


If You Stick An American Wizard In Hogwarts

by SwaggerDownTheStreet



Series: When Spiders Go To Hogwarts [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Also Ben Parker is Dead, Also Have You Seen This Little Shit, Apparently Peter Has A Tumblr Now, Awesome May Parker (Spider-Man), Because Damn If Peter's Going to Go a Whole Year Without His Memes, Blogger!Peter, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, But I Just Don't Know How to Write Him Okay, But This Is First So, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Draco is a Confused Pureblood, Everyone lives, Harry Gets Rescued, Harry Potter Fix-It, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, May is There for a Bit, May the Force Be With You, Muggle Technology, Ned's House is Also Because I Said So, Nobody Dies, Peter Can't Believe the Shit He Gets Into, Peter Does Get His Powers Eventually But Not This Year, Peter Has A Blog, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter's House is Because I Said So, Plus I Refuse to Write Angsty Peter Watching His Uncle Die, Probably Fourth Year, Screw Dumbledore, Screw Dumbledore and His Stupid Plans, Snake!Hedwig, Tags are important, That tag though, Tumblr, Tumblr!Peter, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man, Yes I Think So, everyone is a sarcastic little shit, i love how that's a tag, i'm not sure how it happened, not sorry, read the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22683118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwaggerDownTheStreet/pseuds/SwaggerDownTheStreet
Summary: Peter Parker is a wizard, and he knows it. He knows he's going to Ilvermorny come September.Until he isn't. May gets a job that needs her to go to the UK, bringing Peter along with her. So now he's going to Hogwarts instead.Also, minor detail, May conveniently gets a house right across from the Dursleys and ends up rescuing Harry via adoption.Peter is bitter. Harry is relieved. Draco is salty. MJ observes from the sidelines.Stuff happens.-+-Or, the Peter Parker Hogwarts AU because apparently all I can write is Hogwarts AUs
Series: When Spiders Go To Hogwarts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631722
Comments: 53
Kudos: 121





	1. In Which Harry Gets Adopted

**Author's Note:**

> haha I'm writing this in the school bathroom cos I skipped Gym again. Don't yell at me. I have a legitimate reason, and that reason is because my thighs are very stiff and sore and the muscles between my shoulderblades are also very sore and stiff. Yes I am out of shape. Yes I am writing fanfiction instead of fixing my life. But you're reading it. So.
> 
> Also, the timelines are warped as they get in this, so just. Like. Go with it I guess.
> 
> Anyway. Here is the fic.

As all bad things do, it happened when Peter was absolutely, perfectly cheerful. He suspected nothing could wipe the grin off his face because it was the Last Day of School. The last day of no-maj school, for him. 'Cause next year, he would be at Ilvermorny, learning Magic. With a Magic Wand.

He walked into his and his Aunt May's apartment, dropped his backpack on the entry-way floor and noticed lots of boxes. Some were empty, but some were full and shut tightly.

He found May in the kitchen, pulling dishes out of the cupboards and looking at them before putting them in a box marked either 'To Sell' or 'Special Dishes'. 

"Why are you selling dishes?" Peter asked.

May jumped, startled, then turned around and smiled happily at Peter. He felt his gut writhe in anticipation of Bad Stuff. "Peter! You're home early."

"It's the last day so they made it half-length."

"Oh, that's right." May pulled a mug out of the cupbaord and immediately put it in the 'To Sell' box, which was considerably larger than the other. 

When May didn't say anything, Peter repeated, "Why are you selling dishes?"

May glanced at him, guilt flickering in her expression before she pasted on an agressively cheerful smile. "Peter, you know we've been struggling on a low budget lately?"

Peter nodded, frowning. He'd noticed. Ever since Ben died, May had been struggling to find a job and he hadn't been allowed nearly as much treats as before. But he'd thought it would pass. After all, when you're ten years old, you don't quite understand the difficulties of the world.

"Well," May continued hesitantly, "I've landed a job. It'll pay very well, and we'll finally be able to live normally again. But..." She sighed, turning back to the cupboard and removed several china plates, stacking them carefully in the Special box.

"But why do we need to sell our dishes?" It seemed a bit backward to Peter. If she had a job, why did they need extra money?

"There's too much to bring to our new house. And besides, we could use the extra money right now." She wasn't quite meeting his eyes.

"Hold on," Peter said slowly, "Why are we moving?"

May sighed. With a flick of her wand, a parade of dishes filed out of the cupboard and into the Sell box, neatly stacking themselves in rows. "Peter, dear, the job I got requires me to be in England to work. I know it'll be hard for you, but trust me, you'll love it there."

It took Peter a minute to comprehend what she'd said. Then the wires in his brain connected, and a spark ignited and transformed into the hot fire of irrational rage.

With a wave of magic, May's wand sealed the two boxes neatly. She finally turned to look at Peter whose face had gone flat with shock. He stared at her, jaw clenched, before he spun around and stormed to his room.

May sighed. This was about what she'd expected, but she'd still hoped to avoid it.

* * *

Meanwhile, Peter pulled an old suitcase from the attic and started stuffing things into it. Several pairs of clothes, a pen or five, a notebook, several Iron Man comics, a large Iron Man poster (which he folded up _very carefully_ of course), an extra pair of shoes, a sneakoscope, a rememberall--

Suddenly, Peter came across his old broomstick. That certainly wouldn't fit into the suitcase. He looked at the suitcase in question, still open on his bed. He took a deep, shaky breath through his nose and let it out. Then he collapsed onto the floor, sitting against his bed.

Of course he wasn't going to run away. Where would he run to? May was his only family left, and he didn't know any wizarding families, since May had distanced herself from that world ever since Ben died. But Peter didn't _want_ to go to Jolly Old England. He didn't want to leave New York. It wasn't fair.

He would soon learn that fairness didn't at all come into it.

* * *

The next week passed in a blur of packing up some of their things, selling others, and generally getting ready to leave the United States behind for the United Kingdom.

Finally, the next Monday morning, they were at the airport and boarding a plane. Peter would have been more excited at the prospect of flying an airplane for the first time in his life, but at the moment he was more concerned with the fact that New York was now becoming farther and farther and farther away.

And so it was that Peter Benjamin Parker left his identity as an American behind and became a Brit.

* * *

Of course, it wasn't as simple as that. After the plane landed, the passengers exited, and Peter and May joined the steady flow of people leaving the airport, then arrived at their new home in a small neighborhood, Peter did not settle in. He was being a stubborn ten-year-old instead. At first, May tried to convince him into liking the new house, but she eventually gave up, having more important things to tend to if she were to keep her job.

It was a no-maj job, of course. May didn't like to use her magic if she could help it. She blamed magic for Ben's death. He no-maj police had said he'd been shot, but of course that wasn't the case. It was actually one of Voldemort's followers, one of the crazy ones that went after every auror ever, which included Ben Parker. Ben had died, and the other man sent to Azkaban.

May didn't like to use her magic if she could help it.

* * *

Peter did not like the hot summer. It was hot and sweaty and gross, and Peter didn't like that. He hung on the garden fence one afternoon while May was gone for work. She was gone a lot.

Peter watched as one of the boys in the house across the street tended the garden. Another, much larger and fatter boy watched him, licking an ice cream. Peter wondered why the boy with black hair was gardening. It seemed too hot for such things.

Peter did not like Surrey.

* * *

On a Saturday afternoon when it was considerably cooler outside than normal, May brought Peter to the park. It made him slightly les unhappy, because May could rarely get Saturdays off.

May sat on a bench in the shadow of a large tree while Peter climbed around the playground. As he stood on a high bridge, he spotted the boy who'd been gardening the other day. He was looking around as if he expected to be attacked.

Then there was a shout, and the boy took off running, the other fat boy chasing after him with several other boys behind him.

Peter frowned. The large, fat boy, who resembled a beach ball wearing a wig, was obviously a bully.

Peter didn't like bullies.

And Peter's magic acted up when he didn't like people.

With only a little concentration, Peter made the fat boy trip over his own feet, landing flat on his face. It happened so suddenly that the boys behind him fell right into him, making a very large, very ugly pile of blubber.

The black-haired boy with the glasses kept on running.

Peter did not like Little Whinging.

* * *

As Peter scrolled boredly through memes and messages from his American no-maj friends, he sighed. He closed the laptop and put it on his bed. Making his way downstairs, he looked at the clock hanging in the living room. Half past two. May woukdn't be home for several more hours.

He walked out the front door and stared across the street. There was an owl on the garden fence. The fence of that fat bully, Dudley. In broad daylight.

The owl had a thick letter in it's beak. It fluttered to the door of number four, slid the letter through the mail flap, and flew off again. Peter stared.

That was a wizard owl.

Which meant that there were wizards living in number four.

Peter grinned, his first true grin in several weeks. He ran down the front steps and to the front gate. He paused, about to open the latch.

He would have noticed if there were magic people living there. There were certain signs you could see if you knew to look for them. For instance, the family would likely never leave through thw front door, preferring to Apparate or travel by Floo. This wasn't true with the Dursleys. Mr. Dursley left, in a perfectly normal no-maj car, to go to work nearly every morning.

There also would likely be gnomes in the gardens, because they preferred magical gardens to the boring orderly rows of the no-majs. This also wasn't true. Their gardens were as orderly as a line of soldiers.

So the Dursleys simply couldn't be wizards. That meant that one of their two sons must be muggle-born. It obviously wasn't Dudley, the boy had been taken down by Peter's magic every time without fail. If he was a wizard, then his magic would likely have counteracted Peter's.

That left the skinny black-haired boy. Peter grinned. This was going to be lots of fun.

He opened the gate and made his way across the street and up to the front door of number four. He kncoked loudly, exactly three times. After a moment, the door was opened by a large, purple-faced man by the name of Vernon Dursley.

"What?" The man said rudely.

Peter smiled. He thought himself very good at being polite to rude people. "Hello, Mr. Dursley. I'm Peter Parker. I was wondering if I could talk to your son."

"Dudley?"

"No, the other one."

Mr. Dursley's brow furrowed. Then he snorted. "Oh, he's not my son." Oh. Well that explained a lot. The boy didn't even bear the slightest resemblance to any of the Dursleys.

"Oh. Well, could I speak to him, please?" He added the 'please' as a forced afterthought.

Mr. Dursley seemed to think very hard for a moment. Then, he said, "No. He isn't home." He looked quite pleased with himself.

Well, Peter knew a lie when he heard it. It helped that the boy was peeking curiously into the hallway, as well as Dudley and Petunia Dursley. Peter frowned up at the large man. "Yes he is."

Vernon didn't seem used to having people argue with him. His face went slightly red. "No, he isn't."

"He is so."

"He isn't."

"Is."

"Isn't!" Vernon looked furious at the fact that a ten-year-old boy had managed to drag him into a petty argument. His face turned redder.

"I can see him, you know. I have eyes."

Vernon spun around, and the black-haired Not-Dursley shrunk back out of the hallway. Peter frowned. Dudley grinned.

In the next moment, Dudley squealed as if he'd been pinched. "Something bit me!" He yelped.

Peter gave a very evil grin, which of course nobody saw.

Then the door was slammed in his face. He stood there, blinking in surprise. Then he let out an irritated _hrmph!_ and spun around, marching down the garden, across the street, through his front door, and slumped back down on his bed, opening his laptop.

Peter did not like Privet Drive.

* * *

"That boy is one of them."

"Yes, you've told me!"

"It's true! He did that to Dudley! With ma--"

"Don't say that word, Petunia!"

"But it's true, Vernon!"

"It doesn't matter!"

"But that boy _knows_ it! He knows what he can do! I saw him grinning that horrid grin after he-- after he did _that_ to Dudders!"

"The boy is American."

"They're all over the world, Vernon!"

"...b..od....."

"....h.s...u..ha.c....."

"...Fine."

"But I'll handle it."

"...If you must."

* * *

The next day, as Peter and May were having a late lunch in front of the TV, the doorbell rang. May was about to stand, but Peter beat her to it, saying she deserved to sit and relax.

He opened the door to find, surprisingly, the pinched face of Petunia Dursley.

"Hello?"

Petunia shifted, clearly not liking the current situation at all. "I want to speak to your mother."

"My mother is dead."

"Oh..." Petunia didn't seem to know what to say to that. "Your father...?"

"Also dead."

There was a moment of one-sided-ly awkward silence. "Well-- just-- your legal guardian." She managed to spit out.

Peter turned without a word. A minute later, May came to the door. "Yes?"

* * *

Peter knew he shouldn't listen. He really did. But his curiosity won him over. After all, there was no way Petunia was here to apologize, was there?

Unfortunately for Peter, by the time he managed to get close enough to listen without being discovered, their conversation didn't make much sense.

"I don't know if I can take another right now." May sounded a bit distressed.

"It would be better for him, and for us as well." Petunia was insistent.

May was silent.

"Besides," Petunia added, a little desperately, "You've already got one, and you yourself are one, what's the harm in one more? Would you rather he grew up with muggles?" A muggle? Peter didn't know that word, but something nagged at him, some half-forgotten memory.

May sighed. "I suppose it would be better for him growing up with his own kind." Then her tone became sharper. "And I've heard from Peter that that Dudley of yours is a buly."

There was an awkward-hostile silence.

"I'll take him." 

Petunia let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I'll send him over with his things."

* * *

"Boy!"

He shuffled to the door of the tiny cupboard.

"You're leaving!"

"I... I'm what...?"

"I told you, you're leaving! Right now! Gather all of your things, your only making one trip!"

And so it was that Harry Potter's life was changed for the better forever.


	2. In Which Draco Is A Prick And Sparkle Sticks Are Sparkly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ight children, Im updating for the sake of the five people who are subsribed to this already, ha ha.
> 
> So, I know about the thing where Dumbledore wants Harry to live with his relatives because the charm will keep him safe, but guess what? Screw Dumbledore and his stupid plans. The Dursleys are abusive, so I rescued him. Besides, the Death Eaters would never dare right now and when (if) Voldy arises again, there are HMMMMM MAGGICS they can use. Are we wIZARDS OR NOT???
> 
> So here iss da next chappie.

May went to sit back down with Peter, and they finished their cheesy show. Then, as they began to clean up, the doorbell rang again, and Peter bolted to the door.

"Hello!" Peter said, in a considerably more cheerful tone. He noticed that it was the scrawny, black-haired boy from the Dursley's. "What are you doing here?"

The boy shifted, looking very nervous and uncomfortable. "Um... my aunt and uncle said I'm to live here now."

Oh. So that's what they'd been talking about. Knowing the boy was a wizard, the conversation suddenly made much more sense. "May!" Peter called to his aunt in the kitchen. "That boy's here! Says he's going to live with us!" In hindsight, the situation was more than a little odd, but such things were perfectly normal to a ten-year-old wizard.

"Let him in!" May called back. "Show him your room; you'll need to share for now!"

Peter brought the boy upstairs and they sat down on his bed. Or rather, Peter sat and the boy stood there , awkwardly hugging a small bag.

"What's your name?" Peter asked after a moment of silence.

"Harry Potter." The boy said quietly.

 _What._ Peter's eyes went as big as saucers. "Oh my wand, really?"

Harry just looked at him. "Yes...?"

"Wow!" Peter grinned. _Harry Potter's living in my room!_ "Do you actually have that scar on your forehead?"

Harry looked startled. He pushed back his bangs and showed Peter a lightning-shaped red line. "Yeah, I-- How did you know?"

"Everyone knows."

"They do?" Harry looked a bit confused.

"Well, wizards do, at least." Peter shrugged. "No-majs don't because, obviously, they don't know anything about magic."

Harry looked very confused now. "I-- what do you mean? There's no such thing as magic."

Peter scoffed. "Of course there is. Don't you know?"

Harry stared at him like him thought Peter might be crazy. "Know... what?"

"About-- everything! About witches and wizards and Ilvermorny and Hogwarts and MACUSA and the Ministry of Magic and Voldemort and your parents!"

"My-- my mum and dad died... in a car crash."

Peter was shocked. Who had told him such stupid things? "A car crash? Cars didn't have anything to do with it."

Harry frowned. "How would you know?"

"Oh, come on!" Peter threw his hands up in exasperation. "Everyone knows! Voldemort, for some reason, wanted you dead, so you and your mom and dad went into hiding. _Then_ , you got betrayed and stuff, so Voldemort came and killed your parents and then he tried to kill you, but unfortunately for him, it didn't work for some reason, no one knows why, and BOOM, he's gone! Left you with that scar, though.

"Voldemort was a really powerful guy and killed a whole ton of people. He killed my parents, too." Peter looked at Harry. "How come you don't already know all that?"

Harry looked a little overwhelmed. "I-- that can't-- but-- my aunt and uncle, they said my parents died in a car crash."

Peter sighed. He stood up and went to his bedroom door. Opening it and leaning into the hallway, he called out, "Hey, May! Tell Harry he's a wizard!"

"You're a wizard, Harry!" May's voice called out from the kitchen downstairs.

"Who killed mum and dad?"

"Voldemort, did!"

"And why's Voldemort gone?"

"Nobody knows, but mostly because he tried to kill Harry!"

Peter pulled back in and raised an eyebrow at Harry's incredulous face. "See? Everyone knows."

"I'm not a wizard."

"Oh my wand!" Peter dropped onto the bed. "Come on, haven't weird things ever happened to you when your emotions were all crazy or whatever?"

"Uh--" Harry seemed to think about it. He seemed to remember something and a small grin formed on his lips.

Peter grinned back. "There, see? Don't argue with me, I'm awesome."

And then they watched Star Wars and looked at memes, as is the typical procedure for sibling bonding.

* * *

May had to do lots of paperwork for that, but we aren't going to talk about that because this story is supposed to be fun.

* * *

May was, once again, gone for work. She'd contacted someone at the school to come and bring the boys to Diagon Alley for their school supplies, because she didn't think she'd get the chance.

The school letters arriving had been the last straw to make Harry fully (almost) accept that magic was an actual thing. He'd given up arguing any of it and just resigned himself to the far better life that was apparently now his.

Now, they were sitting on the front steps, waiting for some witch or wizard to arrive. They chatted about idle things and Harry, for the first time, knew what it was to have a friend.

Peter stopped talking and frowned as he heard a distant rumble getting closer by the minute. The two boys looked in the direction, up the street, and soon they spotted a motorcycle with a very large man on it. The effect was a bit comical, as the man was twice the size of a normal man and looked far to big for the bike. His thick hair and beard only made him look more bizzare.

The bike stopped outside their gate, and the man got off, striding through the garden gate towards them. "Hello!" He called, black eyes crinkling at the edges. "My name is Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Call me Hagrid, everyone does. Now, we'll just be off, then, won't we?" He stopped, though, and smiled down at Harry. "Yer little Harry then, ain't ye?"

Harry still looked a bit shocked at the sheer size of the man. "Uh-- yes."

Hagrid's eyes were filled with warmth. "Last time I saw you, ye were only a baby. I got somethin' for ya here." He fumbled in the pockets of his large coat until he managed to find a lumpy package. "I mighta sat on it at some point..."

Harry's eyes went wide when he opened it to reveal a slightly squashed cake, with 'Happy Birthday, Harry' written on it. "You-- you didn't have to--"

Hagrid chuckled. "I know I didn't. But it's yers now."

Harry had to run in the house so he could put the cake in the fridge, and then they went down the garden and stood next to the motorcycle. "Well, get in." Hagrid waved a hand, getting on himself.

"Erm," Peter frowned at the ancient-looking sidecar. "Isn't this, like, illegal or something? And dangerous?"

Hagrid shrugged. "Not when yer using magic."

To put it simply, riding in an old motorcycle sidecar was probably one of, if not the most wild experience of Peter's young life. The thing felt a lot more spacious than it looked, probably through magic. Besides that, it was ricketty and seemed like it might rattle off its bolts at any moment.

They went to a place called The Leaky Cauldron, where Harry was practically assaulted by nearly every customer, through the magical brick wall, and into Diagon Alley.

They first had to go to Gringotts, the wizard bank. Even though Peter had grown up in the wizarding world, he had never been to Gringotts and thought it quite a fun experience. The place was entirely run by goblins, and the cart ride was perhaps even more wild than Hagrid's motorcycle. At one point, Peter caught a glimpse of pale red scales and a sudden jet of fire.

Harry's and Peter's jaws dropped at the sheer amount of gold in Harry's vault, and then Hagrid had to go and collect the weird pacjage in the weird cannibal room for the weird Dumbledore dude.

They finally emerged from the dimly-light marble building and Hagrid brought them to Madame Malkin's. He headed of for a pick-me-up to settle his stomach, and Peter and Harry stood on the stools being measured for their uniforms. It was really quite boring.

"Hello." Came a drawling, snobbish voice from the opposite side of Harry. "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yeah." Harry replied, clearly liking the owner of the voice as much as Peter, which was to say, not at all.

"Hm. Know what house you'll be in?"

"Uh-"

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they. But I know I'll be in Slytherin, like the rest of my family."

"Think you're resourceful enough?" Peter spoke up.

"What?" Peter could tell the boy was trying to see him around Harry. He didn't much care.

"Well, Slytherin's supposed to be the house for ambitious, cunning and resourceful people, right?"

There was a slight pause before the boy said, quite rudely, "How would you know, you're not even British."

Peter snorted. "What gave it away, my eyebrows? You're right, I'm American. Aparently, though, that makes me smarter, because I actually read up on Hogwarts since I knew nothing about it. Apparently, you're sorted by a mind-reading hat."

The boy didn't answer for a moment, but then he apparently decided to be a rude brat. "I wasn't even talking to you."

"You were talking around me, that's the same thing."

"It is not."

"Doesn't matter. Either way, you _were_ talking to my adoptive brother, who, by the way, isn't someone you'd generally act so condescending toward."

"Oh, yeah? And why's that?" But just then, Hagrid appeared at the window, showing them the ice creams to let them know he couldn't come in.

The boy sneered, "Who's that buffoon?"

"That's Hagrid." Harry said sharply.

"Oh, I've heard of him. He's like a servant, isn't he? Lives in a hut and burns it down twice a month?"

"I think he's brilliant." 

The other boy snorted. "Why, is he with you?"

"Yes," Peter said, quite sure he knew where this conversation was going. "And he's great. He's nice and bought us ice cream. He's better than you are, I can say that for certain."

The boy clearly didn't like that. "As if. He's probably half bear or something. Definitely not a pure-blood, like me."

Oh, well, there was his reason for being an enormous git. He was one of those people who were obsessed with blood status. Peter laughed mirthlesly. "Pure-blood? Wow. That's rich. Absolutely rich. Did you know that there really isn't a single person in the entire world who is either completely no-maj or completely wizard? It would literally impossible. We'd have to be isolated on completely seperate continents. There's no such things as pure-bloods. There's people, and there's people. That's it."

The other boy snorted. "Spoken like a true mudblood."

What? Peter didn't know that word, either. Probably British slang. "Actually, my parents were both pure-blood, or at least as pure-blooded as it's possible to be. And look where it got them!" Oops. There went Peter's chance of _not _explaining that his mom and dad were ten feet under.__

____

____

Luckily, though, they were finished just then so Peter and Harry had a convenient excuse to leave. 

Next, they had to get the rest of their supplies, which included books. So they headed to Flourish and Blott's. They purchased all their school books, but then Peter also bought a book called _On Magic and Muggles_ by Jerry Zirkus, using some of the money May had given him to spend on himself. She'd given Harry some too, but he hadn't spent it on anything yet. 

They got their cauldrons, their scales, and anything else on the list, before Hagrid finally brought them to get their wands. Peter was grinning like a madman, as was Harry, because of course this was the most important tool in magic making. This was how you threw sparks around like confetti and turned fat ugly bullies into rose bushes. 

They stepped into Ollivander's and Peter's eyes flitted around, wide as they could go in order to take in anything and everything he could see. The walls were lined with shelves and shelves of narrow little boxes of varying lengths and dustiness. Peter could practically taste the magic in the air. What would that taste like? 

Finally, after _ages_ and _ages_ and _ages_ of waiting, an old man with wild white hair and silvery eyes appeared at the counter. 

"Rubeus Hagrid!" He cried happily. "How good to see you again! I remember that day, when you came in to buy your first wand. Sixteen inches, made of oak. Rather bendy, wasn't it?" 

"Ah, it was, sir, yes." 

"A good wand, that one. But, I suppose they snapped it when you were expelled from the school?" 

"They did." 

"Shame..." He turned to Harry and Peter. "But then, who are these young gentlemen?" 

Harry spoke first, "Harry Potter." 

"Oh?" Mr. Ollivander's face suddenly became more interested. "Potter, eh? I wondered when I'd have you in here. I can remember, like it was yesterday, when your parents came in to buy their first wands. Lily and James... Quite devastating, their deaths. They had many friends. 

"But today, we are going to find _you_ a wand." He then turned to Peter. "And, you are...?" 

"Peter Parker." 

"Parker...? Mm. I don't remember ever having a Parker in here." 

"Yeah, I'm American, you wouldn't." 

"Ah. Then which of you would like to try first?" 

"Harry can." Peter was excited, but anyone could tell that Harry was starved for magic and Peter was sure he could wait a couple minutes. 

"Alright, then." Ollivander went to the shelves as a tape measure began taking various measurements, and began pulling out seemingly random boxes. After a minute or two, he came back and Peter watched as Harry tried several wands before being chosen by one that was apparently the twin of Voldemort's. 

Harry's wand was packed back up and he stepped off to the side for Peter to take his turn. 

"Hm." Mr. Ollivander eyed him critically as the tape measure whipped through the air. "Why don't we try... this one, nine and a half inches of maple, unicorn hair, a bit stiff."

Peter flicked it and there was a loud bang as a jet of light shot out and shattered a small jar on the counter. This was snatched out of his hand.

"Nope! Try this instead. Ebony, ten and a quarter inches, pheonix feather, swishy."

A wave, a flash, several burnt hairs, and this one, too, was snatched away.

"Here, willow, fourteen and three quarters, dragon heart string, pliable."

Peter swished it, and a burst of confetti later, his new wand was being packedd back up in its box. Peter blinked. "Well. That was a little anti-climatic."

They left the store before going into the Magical Menagerie so Harry could get an owl, a birthday present from Hagrid.

As they walked into the small shop, the smell of fur, feathers, and droppings met their noses. They had barely walked a few steps before Harry looked up, glancing around with a small frown on his face.

"What's the matter?" Peter asked him.

"Nothing..." Harry continued looking around before his eyes landed on a small terrarium in the corner. A large snake had reared up next to the glass, staring at them with a slightly scary expression.

The snake was a rusty reddish-brown, with lidded-looking eyes and black zigzag thingies down its ~~back??? what do you call it on a snake~~ body. It hissed softly through the glass.

Harry made his way to the terrarium and stood with his back toward Peter. Weird. Peter sidled over as well, and as he came up next to Harry, he realized that Harry was doing a scarily accurate imitation of the thing. Oh. Well wow, okay, apparently the kid who stopped Voldemort was a Parslemouth. _That is so cool._

"What's it saying?" Peter asked curiously.

Harry looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Peter shrugged. "You're the one who can speak Parsletongue, not me. That's the language of snakes." He added when Harry still looked bamboozled.

"How come you can't?"

"Speak Parsletongue? 'Cause I'm not a Parslemouth. It's hereditary, like magic, except more rare. I'm sure I could learn, like any other language, but they don't teach it anywhere. It's kind of stupid."

"Oh." Harry looked back at the snake, which was watching them with its hooded eyes. "She's mostly just asking to be taken from the shop. Apparently she doesn't like it very much here." The snake hissed. "She hates it here." Harry corrected himself.

And so Harry bought a snake instead of an owl. The lady at the counter said she was just over three feet long, which surprised Peter because she was an adder, which aren't supposed to grow much more than two feet. Apparently, it had to do with being bred with magic.

Before theyleft, Peter decided he wanted to buy his own owl. He looked around the shop before a shy-looking Northern Spotted Owl caught his eye. It was a rich brown color, with white and paler brown spots, hence the name. Its eyes were very dark brown, and they seemed to look right into your soul. Actually that was a tad dramatic, but the creature _was_ gorgeous. Unfortunately, Peter's left over treat-yourself money wasn't enoug to pay for it, so Harry had to pool some of his money and she became both their owl.

"Let's name her Coco." Peter said as they exited the shop, Harry's snake wrapped comfortably around his arm and their owl in her cage, which was safely in Peter's arms. "Doesn't she look like a Coco?"

Harry laughed. "Sure, Peter."

Then they left Diagon Alley and took another ride in Hagrid's (AWESOME) motorcycle. Then they were home and Hagrid left and it was actually pretty late and May was home so they ate supper and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played the game things on February 15 and they were actually pretty fun. I only could play That's Life and Circle Stories though cuz it was 6 am ha ha
> 
> But I have never read such beautiful stories. They were about a two dimensional giraffe who knits scarves on the International Space Station and the 2nd was about an old koala who lost his wife so now they don't serve orange juice in the cafeteria anymore.
> 
> Also, listen, I don't know a lot about American wizards. A lot of this is my best guessing, so. Also, the vaguely canon parts are mostly from my memory so don't yell at me if it's a little off.
> 
> One of you leave a comment darn you there are thirteen of you and you're all lurkers? I'm dissappointed. Wow. So rude.
> 
> ( ~~PLEASE COMMENT I NEED THE VALIDATION AND ALSO I HAVE NO FRIENDS SO I NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO PLEASE~~ )


	3. In Which Draco Is Still A Prick, Ned Is There, And Peter Has A Tumblr I Guess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is. Well, it's a chapter, ok?

Peter flipped a few pages and glanced back at the book, his eyes fliting and his brow furrowed. He was hunched over at his desk, poring over the disassembled pieces of his laptop, which were arranged carefully across the desk so he wouldn't lose any pieces, and _On Magic and Muggles_ , which was open. He read the same sentence several times over to make sure he had it right. Then he raised his wand and then jumped as the bedroom door was opened and Harry came in.

"Hey. What're you doing?"

Peter turned back to the desk. "Trying to figure this out."

Harry came to stand next to him, looking down at the wires and little pieces of metal with zero comprehension. "What?"

Peter took in a breath like he always did when about to give a lengthy explanation. "Okay." He turned to Harry. "I've told you how the concentration of magic at Hogwarts interferes with muggle technology that involves electricity and stuff?"

"I suppose."

"Well, normally, that would mean we'd have to go an entire school year without memes or movies or internet in general. But," he grinned and held up a finger, "I found this book, y'know, the one I bought from Flourish and Blott's. It's basically about how to combine magic with muggle tech to make it work in places like Hogwarts.

"It's only really the basic theory and some incantations and figures, but I think I have the rest figured out. It's technically illegal, though, so don't tell Aunt May."

Harry stared at him. "'Technically illegal'?"

"Mhm." Peter nodded sagely. "Wizards aren't generally allowed to do this kind of stuff without a permit. Plus we're not supposed to do magic outside of school until we're seventeen. That's the 'adult' age in the wizarding world."

"Wait. Why are you doing this if it's illegal?"

"Well..." Peter grinned. "See, technically, I'm not in school yet, so I haven't learned how to use my magic yet, or that's what they think - I've been practicing with May's wand for years while she wasn't looking - so that rules out the problem of me being underage.

"As for the lack of a permit, well, I'm only eleven, so how could I know any better?" Peter grinned at his flawless logic.

"Wouldn't it say in your book?"

"Well, yeah, but I ripped that part out."

"You," Harry decided, "Are an idiot."

* * *

Peter spent like two weeks, three days, eleven hours and thirteen minutes on his project. He would have spent even longer, but the next day they had to leave for King's Cross Station. Even so, he felt pretty confident that it would at least work, even if it would probably lag a whole ton.

* * *

The morning of their departure was filled with excitement. The two boys leapt out of bed nearly two hours before they actually needed to. They ran downstairs to the kitchen, where they ate several bowls of cereal each. They brushed their teeth and combed their hair. Then they asked May - still asleep - how long it would be before they left, she groaned and told them it wouldn't be for a long time and to go watch TV or something.

So they sat in front of the television, watching mindless cartoons until May came out of her room and started making coffee.

May made herself the adrenaline-rush-inducing bean juice, and then she cooked some sausages and eggs, both of which were shared with Harry and Peter, even though they'd already eaten.

After the three of them had eaten a whole ton of food, May asked the two boys if they were all finished packing up, since they would be leaving in about an hour.

They weren't actually quite sure, which meant they had to run upstairs to their bedroom while May took a shower. They each went through their trunks as fast as possible, checking to make sure they had their clothes, uniforms, winter cloaks, all their textbooks, their cauldrons, their scales.... And everything was eventually in its place.

(Peter was totally not salty that he couldn't bring his broomstick.)

They drove to King's Cross Station, where they were sent through the solid brick barrier between platforms nine and ten, May having told them that she'd be right behind them. Unfortunately, though, May had to leave for work soon after they all said their goodbyes. They got on to the train with minimal hassle; two red-haired boys named Fred and George helped them with their trunks, then realized who Harry was and acted all weird like people do.

Finally, they found an empty compartment. They sat across from each other, Hedwig the too-long adder coiled next to Harry and Coco the owl sat in her cage next to Peter.

They noticed a family of exclusively red-haired people in the crowd on the platform, and they heard Fred and George telling them about how Harry Potter was on the train.

They sat for a minute or two, chatting idly about school and which classes they were looking forward to most. Then their compartment door slid open and a gangly red-haired boy from that perfectly ginger family poked his head in.

"Is anyone else sitting here?" He asked. "Everywhere else is full."

Peter moved Coco and her cage onto his lap so the boy could sit down. They learned his name was Ron Weasley, and Ron learned that Harry Potter was Harry Potter and that Peter and Harry were adoptive brothers.

At one point, Fred and George poked their ginger heads in to inform them that their friend Lee Jordan had a huge enormous spider. Ron looked a bit ill.

Then the trolley witch came. They ate lots of candy. Ron's sandwhiches fell on the floor. Peter had a chocolate frog and got Circe, who he'd already gotten before and he gave it to Harry. They ate Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, cauldron cakes, licorice wands, and several other kinds of sweets.

Then a girl called Hermione Granger came in, just as Ron was about to try and turn his rat, Scabbers, a more interesting color. Hermione said she'd like to watch, as if she actually thought they knew real magic.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow." Ron waved his wand like something would actually happen. Nothing actually happened.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Are you sure that's a real spell? It doesn't work very well, does it?" Ron glared at her.

"Yeah, we knew that." Peter informed the girl. "Ron already told us that."

Hermione shrugged. "Well, I've got to go and look for Neville's toad. You should probably change into your school robes, we're supposed to arrive soon. Oh, and you've got dirt on your nose, by the way." Then she left.

The three of them watched her leave. Then they changed into their robes, because they were already going to anyway. Hermione had nothing to do with it.

And then the boy from Madame Malkin's came in. Harry and Peter both glared.

"They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So, it's you, is it?" He looked at Harry. Peter was quite sure his two lackeys were drooling. The blond kid seemed to notice him looking. "Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle. And my name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Ron snigg-- coughed. Ron coughed.

Malfoy turned to him. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. Red hair and hand-me-down clothes? You're obviously a Weasley." Ron's ears turned red.

Peter got mad. Bullies were stupid. Just like Dudley and that one kid Flash from his no-maj school. "Alright, Malfoy, we've established that you suck. Goodbye."

Malfoy looked at him. "And you are?"

"Oh, we've met. Madame Malkin's, remember? When you firmly established yourself as a total prick in both our minds?"

Malfoy's expression soured. But before he could say anything else, Harry hissed softly to Hedwig, who was dozing in the quickly lessening sunlight. She lifted her head and stretched toward the three gits, baring her fangs and hissing. They left.

Ron's mouth was slightly open. "You're a Paslemouth?"

Peter grinned. "Isn't it fantastic?"

Ron looked a bit pale. "But that's-- Parsletongue is a Slytherin thing. You-Know-Who was one...."

Peter and Harry looked at him blankly."No," Harry said slowly. "I really don't know who."

Ron gaped at them. "You know! The guy who killed like half of Europe!"

"Oh!" Peter nodded. "You mean Voldemort. Why didn't you just--"

Ron flinched at the name. "Why would you _say_ that?!"

"Um... I'm American... so...."

Ron seemed to be having a small heart attack. "No one says his name! Only Dumbledore says his name!"

Peter shrugged. "Yeah, well, I guess since he didn't have such a big effect on other places, people just aren't quite as scared of him. Everyone says Voldemort were I come from."

"Well-- you're in Britain now! No one says that! Call him You-Know-Who like a _normal_ person!"

"I _refuse_."

So they went the rest of the train ride without mentioning the self-proclaimed Dark Lord. It was easier that way.

Finally, the voice-over speaker dude came on telling them to leave their frivolous possessions on the train, and the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station.

"Firs' years this way!" Called Hagrid as he loomed over the crowd. The three of them joined the tide of first years rushing down a seperate path from everyone else.

The small group of first years was lead through a narrow trail through a thick patch of trees. They reached the docks and Hagrid cautioned them not to have more than four people in one boat. Peter, Ron and Harry wound up stuck with Hermione Granger from the train.

As the boats glided swiftly and silently across tha lake, Peter muttered, "Isn't there supposed to be, like, a giant squid in this lake?"

Hermione nodded enthusiastically and started chattering about a book called _Hogwarts, A History_. Peter soon tuned her out.

Eventually, they caught sight of the castle. There were several gasps as it appeared in the moonlight. The place looked like a fortress from the medieval ages, which Peter supposed it probably was, towering over the grounds, standing black against the sliver of moonlight.

Finally, the boats touched down. They went up to the gigantic castle doors, and there was a slight interruption as Trevor the toad was found and not-so-happily reunited with Neville Longbottom.

Then, Hagrid knocked on the doors. It was very ~~unnecessarily~~ dramatic.

A strict-looking lady called Professor McGonagall brought them into the entrance hall, then into a smaller room off the Great Hall, where they could here the dull roar of voices that clearly indicated there were hundreds of people in there. The thought was just a little bit nauseating.

McGonagall explained the Sorting and the house points system for those ignorant saps who didn't know, and then she left, leaving the first years to rack up their nerves and bicker with each other. Hermione whispered about the many things she'd read about in _Hogwarts, A History_ while the students around her tried to ignore her.

Finally, they were led into the Great Hall, where they all stared at the floating candles, the illusionary ceiling, and the four house tables, trying to take in anything and everything.

There was a hat on a stool. Apparently, it was sentient to a degree, because it randomly started singing. It was a song about how awesome each Hogwarts house was, and it made Peter feel like he was undercompensating for something.

The Hannah Abott was called up to the stool and the Sorting began.

Peter did not like the waiting. It made his heart steadily climb into his throat. It made him think of all the horrible things that might happen. He might trip. He might take too long. He might puke or fart (that would be embarrassing, with several hundred people watching).

He watched Hermione Granger sorted into Gryffindor (Ron groaned loudly at that), Draco Malfoy sorted into Slytherin (because of course), and Neville Longbottom, the toad kid, sorted into Gryffindor (wait, what?).

When "Parker, Peter" was finally called, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Harry gave him a nervous grin, and he walked up to the stool. Thankfully, he didn't trip or fart or puke or anything.

Then the hat was over his eyes and he was shut out from the trillions of people watching and judging.

The hat whispered. Peter didn't care. He couldn't really concentrate on what it was saying. Instead, he was thinking of all the people watching and judging and waiting so they could eat. Peter didn't feel very hungry. He was starting to regret inhaling all that candy on the train; he was probably going to pay for it now by puking. Why was the hat taking so long? It didn't take this long for anybody else, did it?

Suddenly, the whispering paused, before the hat yelled out...

[ -_- ]

"SLYTHERIN!"

What?

Peter's legs moved instinctively as the hat was removed and the Slytherin table burst into cheers. He trudged to the table and slumped down next to an asian boy, who'd also just been sorted, as far away from Malfoy as was humanly possible.

Peter caught Harry's eyes and they kind of just. Looked at each other. Peter felt miserable. Then Harry was called up, too, and was sorted into Gryffindor. The Weasley twins were probably the loudest of the lot, yelling and whooping at top volume.

Eventually, Ron was also sorted into Gryffindor, and the sorting went on until Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin and the hat was put away. Dumbledore said his mini speech, and then food magically appeared on the plates. Peter looked at it.

"Are you going to eat?" The boy next to him spoke up after a while. "You probably should. I mean, we've got our first classes and everything tomorrow."

Peter groaned but now that his nerves had passed, he had to admit that he actually was pretty hungry. So he piled chicken on to his plate.

The boy, Ned Leeds, managed to pull Peter into a conversation. They talked about things like science and their family life and Star Wars. Peter learned that Ned was a half blood and that he owned like twelve different Star Wars Lego sets.

The knot of anxiety in Peter's gut slowly dissolved as he slowly relaxed. Finally, Dumbledore stood, informing them all that the Forbidden Forest was out of bounds, as well as a certain corridor on the third floor. Then he sent them off to bed with the prefects.

Peter followed the rest of the Slytherins down into the dungeons, catching Harry's eye and waving goodnight before they went their seperate ways. They came to a wall, where the prefects said the password, "dragon tails", and they were sent to their dormitories. Peter found his trunk at the foot of one of the four-poster beds, and the first thing he did was pull out his posters. There were a few of them, including, but not limited to, Iron Man, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and the Fitchburg Finches from Massachusettss.

"What's that?" Malfoy, who was apparently in the bed to Peter's right, had caught sight of Peter's posters. Peter groaned inwardly at the thought of having to sleep next to this prat for seven years. Did they change it every year? Peter hoped so.

Peter turned to Malfoy, holding up his posters. "Posters. Because unlike some people, I like to make this place feel a little more personal, since I'll be practically living here for seven years."

Malfoy squinted at them. "Why aren't they moving?"

"Because some of them are no-maj posters." Peter glared at him, basically saying "fight me" with his eyes.

Malfoy stared at him. "What's a no-maj?"

"You know, non-magic people!" Honestly.

Malfoy's lip curled with distaste. "They're called muggles here." Then he turned back to his trunk, apparently not wanting to converse with somone as low as Peter anymore.

Oh. So that's what that wird meant. Whatever. Peter pulled out a roll of tape and began sticking his posters to the stone wall. After that was finished, he pulled out his pajamas to change and noticed a glint of shiny plastic. Oh yeah. He'd smuggled in his laptop. Peter grinned.

After he was changed. He sat on his bed, his laptop tucjed under one arm, and pulled the curtains shut to make it seem like he'd gone to sleep. Dang, those silk blankets were soft.

Peter opened his laptop and clicked the power button. He waited as the device warmed up, making that faint, near-silent humming noise. The screen turned on and Peter felt a grin slowly forming on his face. Finally, it showed the screen asking for his password, and Peter did a silent cheer.

After typing in the password, Peter clicked on the browser. He waited for it to load, taking probably three times longer than usual, but when it did, it told him he wasn't connected to the internet.

Oh.

Right.

Peter's grin faded, turning to anxiety as he worried there wouldn't be a wi-fi signal at Hogwarts. He went to the network settings page and had his laptop search for signals. _Come on,_ he silently urged it. After an agonizing moment, three different wi-fis popped up. They were all locked.

There was one called _Slytherin-Staff_ , which had three bars, one just called _Slytherin_ , which also had three bars, and one called _Kitchens_ , which had two bars. Kitchens? Huh. But not important. Peter sat there, wondering what the passwords might be, before realizing he was an idiot.

He typed in the password to the common room. It worked. With a grin, Peter went back to the browser and tried YouTube. His grin widened when the page loaded onto his feed, mostly Star Wars stuff.

He tried several other websites, too. Each of them worked, although they took longer than usual to load. He opened the curtains at the end of the bed a bit, leaning out to pull his earbuds out. He watched a few videos on YouTube, then decided that he could probably run a seriously interesting blog about this school. Would that be against the Statute of Secrecy? Probably not if he could pass it off as total nonsense....

And so Peter made a tumblr called "welcometohogwarts". Then he went to sleep.

* * *

**[._.] | welcometohogwarts**

I go to a school where we wave sticks and make sparkles. The school is called Hogwarts. It's in a castle. There are four houses, and the people in my house are all dweebs. Except Ned. Ned is cool. Plus, also, this bed is super comfy, I bet it's made of unicorn hair or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRICKIN' FITE ME.
> 
> Listen: My child. Is either. A Slytherin. Or a Gryffindor. I've narrowed it down. To those two houses. He. Is resourceful (his sUIT) and he. Literally does not obey. Anyone. At all (that could also be Gryffindor but whatever). He sneaks. Out of his house. Literally every night (and he must be doing SOMETHING right cuz May didnt find out till she saw him being an idiot).
> 
> But. He also. Is the embodiment. Of chivalry. And loyalty. And bravery.
> 
> Basically, I think he's ultimately a Slytherin and you can totally just fite me.
> 
> As for Ned... I mean come on. "Peter no one wants _that_."
> 
> Yeah, so... Peter has a tumblr now? I just. That wasn't supposed to happen, it was kind of an accident. But I guess now there'll be a tumbkr post or five at the end of each chapter. It's questionable, but I don't even care at this point.
> 
> Also, I'm pretty sure there's an age limit on tumblr, but I mean, how hard is it, really, to lie about your age?


	4. In Which Snivellus Snaps And Tea IsTerrible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the bathroom (skipped gym AGAIN hahaha.........) and there's this new poster thing on the door that says--
> 
> This is a bathroom stall
> 
> As in a single bathroom stall
> 
> The dictionary definition of single is: "only one; not one of several."
> 
> This means that there should only be a single person in a singular stall
> 
> I'M GLAD WE HAD THIS CHAT
> 
> \--and i mean i agree but like what are high school kids doing in the bathroom stalls that warrants them actually needing to be informed that they shouldnt do it?????????
> 
> Anyway read this now

The first day of classes was boring and monotonous. The owls came for the morning mail, but of course Coco didn't bring Peter anything. Then, after breakfast, the Slytherins had had to go to History of Magic, which was taught by a boring ghost called Professor Binns. On the bright side, Peter got to sleep for an extra hour and a half.

The other classes were just the same; the teacher would introduce themselves, briefly go over what to expect from the class, and then they would have to take notes.

Peter could get through the classes fairly well, since he had Ned to talk to, and this went on for the rest of the week. Wednsdays were the worst because they had to climb _all_ the way up to the _astronomy tower_ at _midnight_ for their Astronomy class. It totally sucked.

But fortunately, they had double Potions with the Gryffindors on Friday, so Peter could see Harry.

And so, after breakfast, Peter sped back down to the dungeons to the potions classroom, and he and Ned sat next to each other close to the back, Peter saving the seat on his other side for Harry.

Not long after, Harry came into the classroom and spotted Peter, an act made easier by the fact that Peter was grinning and waving. Harry grinned back, and came to sit next to him. Ron, who was with Harry, sat on his other side.

"Hey, Harry!" Peter grinned. "How's your week going?"

Harry grinned back. "Great. The classes are really interesting, except History of Magic. We got lost on our way to charms once, but it's actually really cool to have school in a castle."

Peter shrugged. "Yeah, I guess it is. But taking notes the first week is really annoying. We haven't even done any _actual_ magic yet. Except me, 'cause I'm awesome." He snickered quietly.

"Oh yeah, how did that work?"

Peter grinned happily. "It actually turned on! And turns out, there's actually wi-fi here! ...Although, granted, it is quite slow."

Then Ron spoke up from Harry's other side. "What's wi-fi?"

"Oh, that's right, you're pure-blood." Peter nodded solemnly. "There is a non-physical thing that connects a whole bunch of devices, it's called the internet, and wi-fi is how those devices connect to the internet. Does that make sense?"

"No."

"Hey, hey, hey, time out." Ned spoke up. "How'd you manage to connect to the internet at Hogwarts? Doesn't the magic interfere with muggle technology or something?"

Peter grinned, quite proud of himself. "Ah, but turns out there's a loop hole around that. Do you know anything about the energy combining theory?"

"A little hit, yeah. Like, if you make muggle technology but imbue it with magic as you build it, magic won't interfere, 'cause it'll cancel out or something?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, basically." He glanced around and then leaned closer conspiratorialy. "Don't tell anyone, 'cause it's technically illegal, but..." And then he gave Ned a quick explanation of which laws he'd broken.

Ned looked like he had a whole bunch of questions, and Ron still looked quite confused, but then Professor Snape swept in and they had to start paying attention.

As Harry wrote down the mindless slew of phrases Snape was saying, Peter started to notice the odd looks the four of them were geting from the other students. Some looked affronted, some looked hostile, most looked kind of confused. _Huh. Wonder what that's about. Whatever._

Then Snape started snapping at Harry for not paying attention, even though he was probably the only one who actually _was_ paying attention, except Hermione Granger.

Snape apparently decided that Harry should have inhaled the textbook in the few weeks he'd had it, because he started asking the boy about asphodel, wormwood, wolfsbane, death trances, monkshood, and bezoars.

Harry called Snape out by pointing out that Hermione - who was practically standing on top of her chair because she was so eager to answer the questions - clearly knew the answer, and Snape should probably ask her instead.

Then Snape got mad, took a point from Gryffindor "for your cheek, Potter" and had them make boil-curing potions for the rest of the class period.

Peter soon found he had a natural affinity for potions. It was actually quite fun. He finished preparing it quite quickly, and as he had to let it sit and simmer for the next fifteen minutes until it was the right color, he turned to Harry.

"We don't have any classes this afternoon, do you want to go to the library or something?"

But Harry shook his head. "Hagrid's invited me for tea. I'm sure you'd be welcome, though."

Peter shrugged. "Okay. I don't have anything much better to do anyway."

Then, as Snape criticized some poor Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom's cauldron exploded all over him. In about three seconds, everyone had clambered on their stools except Neville himself, who was covered in the potion and seemed to be blistering painfully.

Snape snapped at Neville for not already knowing how to make a potion that Snape was supposed to be teaching them, and then, after sending him to the Hospital Wing, turned on Harry, blaming him for the incident and taking another point from Gryffindor.

Finally, the class ended and Peter escaped the dungeon classroom with Harry, Ron and Ned.

As they walked up the stairs, through the Entrance Hall, and down the Hogwarts lawn to Hagrid's hut, Peter informed Ned that Hagrid was the one who'd brought him and Harry shopping since May was too busy with work. Ned managed to get in a few questions and answers about the enchanted laptop, ("Where did you find the spell?" _"It's written in one of my notebooks, I think."_ "You wrote it?!" _"Well, I bought a book about it, and then I kind of picked up where the author left off."_ "Wow. I can't believe you're elevn and you invented a whole spell, and one that good. Can you teach me? _"Um, it's illegal...?"_ ) but then they reached Hagrid's hut near the Forest.

They knocked and were let in by the giant man himself, who was struggling to hold back a humongous black boarhound. When they finally managed to get in and clise the door, the dog, Fang, attacked Harry and started licking hus ears.

Tea with Hagrid was... an interesting experience. He served rock cakes that could easily have passed for actual rocks. The four boys complained about Snape, though that was more Harry and Ron, and about Filch the caretaker and his evil cat.

Harry seemed to notice something in the paper, because he picked it up, frowning suddenly. After a moment, he informed them that the Gringotts Break-In had happened July 31, Harry's birthday. Peter, Harry and Hagrid could have been there at the same time as the would-be robber. Hagrid wasn't as excited about this as Harry.

When they finally left, Harry was quiet, watching his feet as the four of them made their way back up to the castle. They parted ways, heading back to their respective house common rooms.

Peter and Ned found a hidden alcove behind a large tapestry before going to their dormitory to retrieve the Enchanted Laptop and the earbuds.

And then they spent like five hours bonding over Vines and Star Wars.

* * *

Unfortunately for Peter and Ned's epic bromance, they eventually had to go to bed. So they did. Go to bed. That didn't mean they immediately went to sleep.

As Peter changed into his pajamas, having stowed away his Laptop and earbuds, Draco Malfoy sauntered into the dormitory. Peter was a little curious as to what he had been doing, since it was actually pretty late. Then again, it was a weekend night and people tended to stay up later on Fridays. So Peter turned his attention back to finding his stupid toothbrush.

"Hey, Parker."

"What, Malfoy," It was more a statement than a question.

"Why've you got a poster of an American Quidditch team stuck to our wall?"

Peter stared at him, having given up his fruitless toothbrush hunt. "Um, because I'm American?"

Malfoy sneered. "This isn't an American school, Parker. If I were you, I'd try and remember that."

Peter twisted his face into a look that said, _You are making literally zero sense right now._ "Are you... threatening me?"

Malfoy just turned to his own bed and began preparing for bed.

"Malfoy. What the heck?" But Malfoy was ignoring him. "Fine, you know what, this is stupid. I'm going to get my toothbrush." He had, in fact, no idea where his toothbrush was, but he knew hw to get it. So he left, not even bothering to change back out of his pajamas.

He ran to the common room on slippered feet, then through the wall door and into the dungeons. He knew that he had to hurry; he could just barely escape detention right now with the excuse that... actually, he didn't have an excuse. But another half hour and there was no reasonable explanation why he wasn't at _least_ in his house common room.

He emerged from the dungeons, eyes and ears straining to make sure he didn't run into any prefects, or worse, a professor, before running up the stairs and beginning the long trek upwards.

Out of sheer luck, he didn't lose his way. At one point, a staircase moved just as he reached it, making a shortcut and probably knocking ten or fifteen minutes off his run. At another, he just barely remembered to skip a step that would have him trapped until a teacher found him.

But, he finally made it to the library, albeit sweaty, out of breath, and aching all over. He stopped at the door to catch his breath before moving into the vast, far-darker-lit-than-usual room.

He spent probably ten minutes searching for some sort of catalogue before finally finding a stack of papers all displaying a neatly organized layout of the shelves.

He gingerly slipped one off and moved into a shadowy corner. He lit his wand (magically) and put a hand over it so the light would only fall on the paper and not betray him to any prefects.

The map-ish catalogue itself was actually quite interesting. It had the words _A Gift From Mary, Smuggleborn Extrodinaire_ written very small in one corner with a smiley face. There were dozens of shelves drawn on the paper with impossibly straight lines that could have passed as printed. Each one was labeled, including, but not limited to, Muggle Fiction, Historical Fiction Realistic Fiction, Textbooks 1, Textbooks 2, Spellbooks, Potions, Magical Creatures, and Comic Books.

The Restricted Section was highlighted in red, with sections like Dark Magic, Deadly Poisons, and Screamers (Peter didn't want to know what that was about) but Peter didn't need to go to the Restricted Section. Instead, he calibrated himself to the map and followed it to the section marked Spellbooks.

When he found the right shelf, he carefully folded the paper and tucked it into the breast pocket of his pajamas. Then he started walking down the aisle, scanning the shelves and trying to direct his wand light away from any unwanted attention. He pulled out any books that looked like they might help ( _A Study in Summoning by Artur Collin Doiley, Everything to Know About Summoning Charms by Jackie Snow, A Brief Course of Useful Charms by Mary Susan Sparrow-Swann_ ) and piled them neatly. He flipped through each one, opening them all at the spell he wanted to learn. Accio.

* * *

Peter's eyes itched and he felt seconds away from sleep. Twice, he'd nearly dozed off right there in the aisle, and three times, he'd thought he heard Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat. 

He took a breath and pointed his wand, for probably the zillionth time, at the folded paper, a few feet away from him. He glanced down at the book, open on his knee. He read through the tips three dozen thousand times. He concentrated as well as he could with his sleep-desperate brain, flicked his wand, and--

"Accio, paper," The paper shot suddenly toward him like a rocket, and he reached up a hand in surprise. Thankfully for his face, the paper smacked into his hand and didn't leave any cuts. Peter grinned.

Then he had to spend like fifteen minutes puting hooks away.

* * *

By the time he got back to the dormitory, Peter could barely function for how exhausted he was. He dropped himself into bed without actually getting the toothbrush he'd gone to all the trouble for. He didn't even take off his slippers or draw the hangings shut. He was asleep within the next five seconds. Not once did it occur to him that maybe, just maybe, he could have gone a simpler process to find his toothbrush.

* * *

**[._.] | welcometohogwarts**

Wow what a hectic first week. Already Saturday. Doesn't really feel like it lol. I haven't really had time to explain this stuff to you muggles but it's a Saturday morning and I can pretend I've been sleeping so here's the gist:

Hogwarts is a school for magic kids  
Four houses (Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw)  
> Slytherin is for the cunning, ambitious, and um resourceful  
> Gryffindor is for the brave, chivalrous, and daring  
> Hufflepuff is for the hard workers, just, and loyal  
> Ravenclaw is for the learners, curious, and sssssssmart...?

I am a wizard. You are a muggle. I have magic you do not. It's a hereditary thing.  
I'm also American. This is a British school.  
Kids are sorted by a magical hat (just go with it ig)  
I'm Slytherin, my bro is Gryffindor (ugh irritating)

Anyway, we've gone through our classes this week with just the beginnings, like Herbology, Transfiguration, Astronomy (WHICH IS AT MIDNIGHT EVERY FREAKING WEDNSDAY UGHHH) and Potions. They're all boring notes rn except Potions, which sucks anyway because the teacher is an a-hole (Potions itself is fun tho) So finally I get to see my brother in Potions (the classes are split with another house and Potions is Gryffindor/Slytherin) and we made boil-curing potions and Snape snapped haha (he's the Potions teacher) So Harry (my bro) said he got a letter from Hagrid (keeper of keys/grounds and also very friendly and big) inviting us for tea so we went and pretended to enjoy his rock cakes ugh and then we learned more about the Gringotts break-in (wizards bank) and apparently it happened the same day we were there so yeah back next week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is a lot shorter than normal, and I'm sorry about that, but I just wanted to update really bad and also I just wanted to make sure this part and the next part were seperate chapters.
> 
> Also, about the tumblr thing. Do you guys think I should have one for each week, and space them throughout the chapters to show the time flow? Or should I just have one every chapter? One the one hand, it'll be the same amount of chapters for each book/fic. But on the two hand, it'll make the story run smoother. Idk ~~#give me your opinion so I can ignore it~~


	5. In Which McGonagall's Bias Is Called Out And There Is A Very Large And Scary Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sits up in bed at 3am* the Ministry's Department of Mysteries is literally the Area 51 of the Wizarding World and that means those five(?) kids could execute the Area 51 raid alone in this essay I will-
> 
> and on that note--

Flying lessons. Peter never thought he would look to something so great and awesome with bitterness.

And he didn't, that would be dumb. But later in life he would probably look back on this day and snicker at the stupidity of it all. Or maybe not.

The thing with this particular day was that it complicated a favorite game of Peter's completely unnecessarily. It started with a notice in the common room.

"They've got to be joking!" Malfoy's uncharacteristically irritated voice carried over to Peter and Ned's shared table and Peter looked up to see what the fuss was about.

A small group of first years were gathered around the bulletin, each of them showing various degrees of "personally affronted". 

"They can't put us with the Gryffindors!" Malfoy continued. "They've got to know they're a bunch of pricks!"

Peter frowned, shaking his head slowly before turning to Ned, who was scratching down random, probably made-up names for selective giants in his essay for Binns. "What's up with that?"

"With what?"

"Well, all the Slytherins seem to despise Gryffindor. I've seen them hissing at each other in the hallways between classes. Why is that?"

Ned shrugged. "House rivalry."

Peter frowned. He thought about that for a moment. "That's... actually kind of stupid. Why can't I be friends with someone from another house? My brother's in Gryffindor."

"I don't know. That's just the way it is. Dad says it was the same for him, when he was in Hogwarts."

Peter shook his head, sighed, rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, and then went back to his essay, internally screaming at the pettiness of this stupid British school.

* * *

"When I blow my whistle, push off from the ground, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down!"

An early push, a bucking broomstick, and a sharp crack later, Neville Longbottom was being lead back to the castle for Madame Pomfrey to take care of his newly broken wrist.

Peter was impatient. He wanted to be up in the air and feel the rush of rising and falling and looping through the sky on a broom. It had been ages since the last time he'd ridden a broom.

"Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's Gran sent him!" Malfoy grabbed the little glass ball like an evil, blond magby. He held it up for everyone to see.

"Give it here, Malfoy." Harry held out his hand.

"No, I think I'll leave it somewhere for Lonbottom to find. How about up a tree?"

"Malfoy, don't be a douche!" Peter yelled at him.

"You stay out of this, Parker." Malfoy apparently decided he wanted to get expelled, because he mounted his broom and pushed off into the air.

Harry grabbed his broom.

"No!" Hermione Granger stepped forward. "Don't! You heard the teacher, we're not to touch the brooms before she gets back! You'll get us all into trouble!"

But Harry clearly didn't want to hear it, mounting and lifting off with surprising skill for someone who supposedly had never ridden a broom before.

"What an idiot." Peter found himself agreeing with Hermione, but thought he was the bigger idiot for what he was about to do.

"May's gonna kill me," He muttered. Then he, too, mounted his broom and followed the other two, ignoring Hermione's continued protests.

Three boys hovered above the Hogwarts grounds on magical broomsticks. Peter was itching to just let loose and fly every which way at top speed, but that wasn't what he was here for.

"Malfoy!" He yelled. "Give that back!"

Malfoy sneered at him. "Oh, but I haven't finished with it!"

Harry suddenly leaned on his broom, shooting forward and just barely missing Malfoy. The blond boy's confident smirk faltered.

"Haven't got Crabbe and Goyle up here to help you now, do you Malfoy!"

Malfoy hesitated before yelling, "Catch it if you can, then!" And tossing the little glass ball in a high arc. 

Before Peter could say a word, Harry shot for the ball, diving at an angle a first year couldn't possibly pull off.

Peter's first instinct was that Harry was falling, which, in Peter's brain, translated roughly into " _Merlin's pants, I need to catch him, I'm gonna die._ " So Peter also pulled into a dive, his only thought-- actually no, if he'd been thinking, he'd have had enough sense to not try and get himself killed.

The twin dives only lasted a few seconds, but it felt a lot longer, like when you watch a car crash or you answer a Jeopardy question and are waiting for the results.

Harry suddenly pulled out of his dive, apparently having caught Neville's Rememberall, and Peter let out a tiny yip of surprise, yanking his broom handle upward.

Their results were quite different. Harry, who had known when to pull out of the dive, slowed to a meandering pace, his toes trailing against the grass. Peter, on the other hand, hadn't been watching the ground and barely managed to take most of the impact out of his spectacular landing.

He crashed. He practically smacked into the ground, rolling with the broom and knocking the wind out of himself. He lay there, curled on one side and on the ground, gasping for oxygen and generally feeling like he was dying. He willfully ignored the cheers Harry's much more graceful dive drew from the crowd of first years.

"Are you okay?" Harry had come to stand next to him, looking concerned.

"No," Peter choked out. "I'm dying, Harry. You've-- you've killed me--"

"Ah, come on. It's not _my_ fault."

Peter took a deep breath, feeling his poor, sobbing lungs with cool, refreshing, wonderful air. He rolled onto his back to look up at Harry. "Why-- would-- you-- _do_ that?!"

"It's not my fault!" Harry said again, looking slightly affronted. "Malfoy just yeeted it--" Peter snorted-- "and I acted on instinct!"

Peter rolled again, onto his hands and knees, before standing up and leaning on Harry's shoulder. "Instinct," He huffed. "Does _not_ mean a fifty-foot dive on a broomstick. I thought you said you'd never ridden a broom before in your life?"

"I-- don't think so... I mean, not as far as I remember...."

Before either of them could say another word, a shout rang across the grounds. " _Harry Potter!_ " Professor McGonagall was striding towards them from the castle, shock painted all over her face.

She stopped in front of them and Peter became painfully aware of his tousled hair and grass-stained robes. He quickly took his elbow off Harry's shoulder.

McGonagall eyed them both severely. "I think you'd both better come with me."

Several people - mostly Gryffindors, although Ned joined in too - protested, each of them giving a different reason and most of them defending Harry specifically. Stupid house rivalry again. They probably thought Peter was trying help Malfoy.

Peter and Harry followed McGonagall in mutual silence. Peter stewed with resentment at the fact that he would probably get expelled while Harry would probably just get detention or something, being the Boy Who Lived and a Gryffindor.

They trekked through the halls of Hogwarts, struggling to keep up with McGonagall's swift pace. Then McGonagall opened the door of a classroom and said, "Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood? Peter wondered dully what she meant. Then a tall fifth year boy came out of Flitwick's class, looking slightly confused.

McGonagall turned to Harry. "Mister Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood, I found you a seeker."

After a tiny moment, what McGonagall had said registered, and Peter's brain short-circuited.

Well. This was just not okay. "Hang on," Peter spoke up. "I thought we were in trouble!"

McGonagall gave him a sever look. "If you really want to, I can arrange for you both to polish the entire trophy room without magic."

Peter snapped his mouth shut.

"You very much should be in trouble," McGonagall continued. "But Mister Wood here has failed to find a competent seeker and Mister Potter seems to have the necessary skill.

"As for you," McGonagall turned to Peter. "Marcus Flint, the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, has already assembled a suitable team. I think, however, that if you practice often and keep your skills up to scratch, you could have a future in Quidditch as well."

McGonagall paused for a moment, piercing them with her stare. "This time, I will let you off with a warning. Know that you are quite fortunate not to have several week's worth of detentions, and bear that in mind next time you get such a foolish idea in your head."

* * *

**[._.] | welcometohogwarts**

Hogwarts Word of the Day: Quidditch. It's a magic sport played up in the air on broomsticks. There are four balls (1 golden snitch, 1 quaffle, 2 bludgers) and seven players (1 seeker, 1 keeper, 2 beaters, 3 chasers) 

Bludgers try to knock players of their brooms, and the beaters use bats to keep them away.

The Quaffle is used to score points, like in soccer except there's three goal hoops and their a lot higher up. Chasers are the ones who try and score, the keepers are like goalies. Each goal is worth 10 points.

The snitch is very small and fast; it flies all over the Quidditch pitch and the seeker's job is to catch it. When the snitch is caught, the game ends and the team of the seeker who caught the ball gets 150 extra points.

Anyway, first years at Hogwarts arent allowed to play, but my idiot of a brother broke the rules, wound up showing off his secret diving skills and nearly getting both of us expelled, and now hes on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Its really quite biased and stupid.

Good day to no one except my owl Coco who is eating my toast.

* * *

"This has got to be the stupidest thing you've done so far, Harry, and that's a statement, seeing as you've done a whole load of stupid things."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't care. Malfoy picked a fight and if I back out I'll look like a wimp."

"Okay," Peter said. "But in the middle of the night? When you're supposed to be sleeping? You'll get in even more trouble than you'd already be in for dueling!"

Harry shrugged. "At least I don't have an illegal object hiding under my bed."

"Touche."

"What illegal object?" Hermione Granger's voice said sharply.

Peter whipped his head around so fast he was surprised it didn't snap. "Uh, nothing. No one has anything illegal. At all."

She stared at him, clearly not convinced. "Yes. Well. I couldn't help but overhear what you were saying to Malfoy--"

"Bet you could," Ron muttered.

"--And you're not to go wandering around at night! Think of all the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught!"

"It's none of your business."

Hermione glared at the four of them. "Anyway why are you sitting here?" She asked Peter. "We're supposed to sit with our own houses."

Peter shrugged. "You're the only one who's noticed so far, so it can't be _that_ important."

Hermione sniffed and left them to their thoughts.

Peter turned back to Harry. "Alright, listen, I couldn't care less how many points Gryffindor loses, 'cause that just makes it easier for Slytherin to win. But, you're already on a warning from McGonagall for that idiodically stupid stunt you pulled during Flying; what happens if you get caught? You'll probably be expelled."

Harry shook his head. "I won't get caught."

"We'll see about that."

* * *

Peter slumped in a chair in the Slytherin common room that night, reading the same paragraph over and over because it just wouldn't sink in.

He suddenly shut the book, hard, slammed it on the table, and dropped his head on to the closed cover.

Now, you must understand, when one is doing nothing, having their head resting on the table and their eyes closed, one tends to hear things the might otherwise not. Such was the case with Peter that night; he overheard a certain group of fist year Slytherins talking about something they found rather amusing.

"Imagine his face when Filch shows up," Malfoy was sniggering with the other first years around another table. "I almost wish I could be there just to see the moment he realizes he's expelled."

At first, Peter didn't much care what they were talking about, aside from the indignant anger that Malfoy would purposefully get somone expelled for the fun of it. But as the conversation continued, it clicked that Malfoy was supposed to be meeting Harry and Ron in the trophy room at midnight.

Peter gasped, his head shooting up at the realization.

Ned glanced up from trying to turn a pebble into a coat button. "What's the matter?"

"Malfoy's set Harry up," Peter whisered frantically. "He's tipped Filch off about them being in the trophy room tonight."

Ned's face fell. "Oh shoot. What are you going to do about it?"

"I need to tell them," Peter gathered his quills and parchments, already standing up.

Ned frowned and checked his watch. "But it's already ten! We're supposed to be in bed soon!"

"Don't care," Peter paused in the act of rushing to the dormitory corridor. "You know, you can come with me. But I won't judge you if you don't."

Ned bit his lip indecisively, before slowly shaking his head. "Um-- no... I need to work on this transformation... but make sure you're not caught, alright?"

Peter smiled exasperatedly. "Sure, fine."

* * *

It gave Peter an odd sense of déjà vu to be wandering around the castle after curfew again. It reminded him vividly of the night he'd gone to the library and learned the summoning spell. He'd found the toothbrush under his socks the next morning and hadn't found used the spell since, because he hadn't really had reason to thus far.

Peter thought of this as he headed for the trophy room, keeping a careful ear out for any approaching prefects, teachers, or caretakers. It took him a bit longer than he would have liked, but he finally found the room. There were quite a lot of trophies, but Peter was really not in the admiring mood.

After a thorough look around, he realized no one was actually there yet, which was good, because that way there was a higher chance of him finding Harry and Ron and all three of them _not_ getting caught.

He left the trophy room in the direction of the Gryffindor tower--or at least the general direction, seeing as he'd never actually been there before. But before he'd gone even a few steps down the corridor, he heard footsteps at the opposite end.

Acting on instinct, Peter slipped behind a suit of armor, being careful not to let it make too much noise. Just in time, too, as at that moment, he saw four (four?) hazy shadows round the corner, flickering in the candlelight.

"--Caught, I'm telling the _truth_!" Peter recognized the voice of Hermione Granger as they came nearer. Daring to poke his head just a little bit out from behind the large shield of the soldier hiding him, he breathed a sigh of relief as he caught sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville Longbottom, all skulking down the corridor and in a quiet argument.

Peter gingerly slid back out and the four of them looked up quickly at his hiss of, "Hey!"

Harry stared at him. "Peter? What are you doing back there?"

Peter shook his head. "Listen, there's no time. Malfoy isn't coming, he told Filch there's going to be somone in the trophy room tonight, and if you don't go back quickly you'll get caught."

Harry's face turned to anger. "That- that absolute _prat_!"

Peter nodded hastily. "Yes, I know, he's a prick, but _that's not important if we don't move we'll get expelled_!"

As if to underline Peter's point, they heard the quiet voice of Argus Filch in the trophy room. "Look around, my sweet, they're in here somewhere...."

Now, don't be angry at the children. They're only eleven years old, and they have the threat of expulsion hanging over their young heads. With that in mind, knkw that anybody woukd have done exactly what they did, which was panic and make a run for it.

It was practically a miracle that they managed to stay together, but then they ran in to Peeves the poltergeist.

"Ooh!" Said Peeves evily. "Ickle firsties out of bed! Naughty naughty, you'll get caught-y!"

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves!" Harry hissed. "Please!"

Ron made a swipe at him, which missed. "Get out of the way, Peeves!"

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" The poltergeist shrieked. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED, DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

The five of them ran, to a door at the end of the corridor. It was locked.

"This is it!" Ron groaned. "This is the end!"

"Get out of the way!" Hermione pushed them, rolling up the sleeves of her dressing gown and pulling out her wand. " _Alohamora_!"

The five of them shoved through the door, slamming it shut behind them. They all stood there, breathing heavily, blood rushing at the adrenaline of their near expulsion. They heard Filch questioning Peeves and Peeves trolling him like a boss, laughing his semi-transparent head off.

Peter laughed weakly after Filch had gone. "Well. Well. We didn't get caught. I guess that's something."

"Yeah..." Harry said shakily. "Get off, Neville--what?" Peter could sense Harry turning around in the dark before his breathe hitched. Frowning, Peter also turned around, and then it was all he could do not to scream.

There, standing in the middle of the corridor (The Forbidden Corridor on the third floor, Peter realized) was a gigantic three-headed dog, drooling all over the place and growling with the sound of a quiet chainsaw.

It didn't take any more than that to make the five of them push their back out the door again, once again banging it shut behind them. They stood there for a moment, panting and in shock at the fact that their heads were still attached to their bodies.

"Well," Peter said at last. "Good-bye, then. Don't wander around too much anymore. Or at least, not anywhere near here." The other four nodded mutely.

They parted ways, Peter toward the dungeons and the rest of them the direction Peter supposed must be toward the Gryffindor tower. The whole way back to the common room, Peter felt dazed, thinking about the giant dog and the trapdoor it had been standing on.


	6. In Which The Dog Makes Another Appearance, Brooms Are Bewitched, and Secrets Slip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaaaa posting at 3 in the morning cos sleep is for the weak and I abandoned my good health long ago
> 
> A lot happens in this one haha

**[._.] | welcometohogwarts**

Wow I am literally so offended rn. My brother has just recieved a Nimbus 2000 broomstick. Just because he broke the rules. Wow. So rude. Such bias. Many offense.

There's a girl in his house who thinks he doesn't deserve it, and him and his friend are kind of salty at her. I agree with HER tho cuz he really doesn't deserve special treatment. If it had been anyone else, theydve been expelled.

This concludes my rant for today.

* * *

Halloween was meant be a big ordeal, and Peter wasn't really feeling it. He could be going to the Ilvermorny costume party, but no, Aunt May had to send him to this stupid, petty British school instead.

Peter snuck over to Ron and Harry during the feast, and they managed to have a solid conversation about the giant dog and trapdoor. But apparently, prefects were more vigilant during holiday feasts, because he was soon spotted and rushed off to the other side of the hall.

The rest of the feast he spent chatting with Ned and flicking peas at Malfoy, who made a brilliant show, throwing a hissy fit when he couldn't locate the offender.

As Peter and Ned snickered at Malfoy's slowly pinkening (was that even a word?) face, the doors of the Great Hall burst open and Quirrel rushed in, stopping in front of the staff table, panting, his turban askew.

"Troll!" He gasped. "In the dungeons! Thought you ought to know!"

Dumbledore ordered everyone to follow their house prefects to the common rooms in an orderly fashion. Wait. The panic in the Slytherin section only grew as they realized the Slytherin common rooms were _in_ the dungeons. So was the troll, according to Quirrel.

"To the library!" Professor Snape objected, waving the Slytherin prefects away from the dungeons. "Don't be stupid!"

Peter followed the tide of black, green, and silver up the stairs toward the library. Then he noticed Snape slipping through the crowd, and then off down a different corridor. Peter frowned.

On a spur-of-the-moment decision, he ducked his head and slid to the narrow corridor Snape had disappeared down. Once out of sight, he lifted his head again. Crap. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

Glancing around, Peter noticed a painting of a thin, black-haired man sitting boredly under a tree. He rushed over.

"Excuse me," Peter pleaded hurriedly. "Did you see Professor Snape go by? Tall, black hair, greasy, hook nose, flouncy...?"

The painting man looked up. "That isn't very polite. Demanding answers at first sight. Your the only person who's spoken to me all year, you know."

Peter bit his lip in frustration. "Yeah, great, hi I'm Peter. Nice to meet you and all that. Can you please answer my question?"

The man continied to look at him. "Aren't you wondering who I am?"

Peter hissed. "Look, this is urgent, okay? Did you see him or not?"

There was a moment when Peter thought the man would refuse to answer, but then he raised a hand and pointed. "Down that way, toward the third floor."

Peter's eyes widened. He let out a rushed thanks before hurrying off in that direction.

He rushed up the corridor, taking a shortcut so he could hopefully reach there in time, and then he was on the third floor and there was Snape, standing in front of that door with the Dog behind it.

Peter's pace slowed drastically and he dove behind a plant when Snape turned around. Peeking around the large leaves, Peter saw Snape glare suspiciously up the corridor before turning back. Then the door opened, Snape slipped inside, and Peter crept out from behind his plant.

He approached the door cautiously, as if it might attack at any moment (given that it was Hogwarts, it very well might). He gently pulled it, testing to see if he could get in without unlocking it. He couldn't.

Barely taking the time to acknowledge that this was the stupidest decision of his short life, Peter tapped his wand on the lock, whispering, "Alohamora."

He heard the click of the lock and pressed his ear up to the door. He could hear the faint snarling of the Dog, but nothing that would show the current situation.

So he cracked the door open just the _teeniest_ bit. A few minutes later, he'd wish he hadn't.

Snape was standing with his back to the door, wand out and facing the Dog. Peter watched, frowning slightly, as Snape stepped forward just slightly, his wand out.

The Dog barked loudly. Snape paused. He waved his wand, muttering something.

Another step, another loud bark. This time, Peter could clearly see the hackles of the great Dog rising. It was getring agitated.

Snape tried another incantation, stepping forward. The Dog lunged forward, clamping its jaws around Snape's leg and yanking violently. Blood gushed out of the wound as Snape once again fired, this time hitting the Dog squarely in the eye. The Dog passed out on the floor.

Peter didn't stay any longer. He whirled around and ran straight to the nearest bathroom, heaving up his guts in a toilet stall.

He never wanted to experience that ever again.

* * *

The next morning, Peter went straight to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Ron, who was sitting next to Harry, who was sitting next to Hermione.

"Hello, Hermione," Peter greeted her. "I thought you guys hated each other?"

They quickly filled him in on how they had taken on a twelve-foot mountain troll the night prior, and how Hermione had taken the blame to get them out of trouble.

"Huh," Peter's eyebrows were in danger of losing themselves in his hair. "Well, that's pretty impressive for a group of eleven-year-olds. But you'll never guess what _I_ saw last night. Snape was in the corridor on the third floor, you know, the one with the Dog in it."

" _What?_ " The three Gyffindors looked properly shocked.

Peter nodded solemnly. "Yeah. It nearly ripped his leg off, and then I puked in the bathroom because that was definitely not something I ever wanted to see."

They grimaced at that, and the conversation turned toward less unpleasant things.

"You're all coming to the Quidditch match next Saturday, right?" Harry seemed to feel the need to assure himself.

Ron and Hermione nodded vigorously, but Peter just poked at a bit of bacon. "Dunno. There's the problem of the fact that I'm Slytherin and you're Gryffindor...."

Harry looked at him, surprised. "So?"

Peter frowned at him. "'So'? So everybody here is biased. There's extremem prejudice everywhere you turn, especially between the snakes and the lions. You can't seriously pretend you haven't noticed."

Harry pouted. "But I'm your brother."

"Doesn't matter. If I try and sit with the Gryffindors, they'll act petty and hiss at me. And if I sit with Slytherin, then I can't cheer for you or they'll hate me."

Hermione interrupted their solemn discussion. "Wait, your brother?"

Peter shrugged. "Not by blood. We happened to buy a house across the street from where he was living with his muggles. They noticed we were magic and dumped this idiot on us."

Harry reached over Ron to hit Peter in the head with a fork and Peter snickered.

Hermione frowned. "How do you just _happen_ to buy a house across from a famous wizard?"

" _Destiny_." Peter wiggled his fingers at her mysteriously. Ron and Harry snorted.

"Seriously, though," Peter waved his fork at Harry. "How did you get to he seeker? You can barely see." Yes, he was changing the subject, and quite spectacularly if you asked him.

Harey frowned. "I can see."

"And that's why you wear glasses. And why you wandered around our room for half an hour when you couldn't find your glasses that one morning. You apologized to the wall at least seven times."

"You stole my glasses that morning!"

Peter grinned, shoving a piece of toast into his mouth. "Maybe."

Then the owls came in and Coco swooped down onto Peter's plate, a letter held in her beak. He took it from her and gave her several strips of bacon off a platter.

He looked at the return address. "It's from May."

"Open it," Harry prompted.

So Peter opened the letter and read aloud:

    Dear Peter and Harry,

    I hope the two of you are settling into school okay. Peter, I know you'd rather have gone to Ilvermorny, and I'm sorry for that. I've been told from Professor McGonagall that Harry is on the Quidditch team for his house and been given a broomstick. Good for you, Harry. Keep that broom polished and cared for, because I won't be able to afford another one of that quality.

    On the less cheerful side, Peter, I can't find your laptop. At first I thought maybe you'd just left it somewhere in your room, but I can't seem to find it. I even tried a summoning charm, but it's not here. Did you take it with you? You do know that it won't work at Hogwarts, right? It'll just be extra baggage.

    On the subject of holidays, I'll try my best to get work off for Christmas, but I'm not sure I can.

    Love,  
May

Peter looked up at Harry and tried for a grin. It didn't come out right. "Well. Now I just feel guilty."

Harry frowned. "Are you going to tell her the truth about that?"

Peter shook his head adamantly. "Absolutely not. If she knows about it, she could get in trouble. It was my idea so it's my fault. I'll tell her I thought they might have fixed the magical interference by now."

Hermione looked between them with narrowed eyes. "Does this happen to have anything to do with the illegal object you're hiding?"

"...Yes, actually," Peter glanced at Harry, who shrugged. "See, I enchanted the laptop so it can resist the magical interference at Hogwarts, and it acrually worked. It still lags a lot, which is very irritating, but at least I won't have to go a whole year without my memes."

Hermione stared at him, open-mouthed. Peter wondered if maybe he'd made a mistake. "So, basically what you're telling me," Hermione stated in a shaky voice. "Is that you did magic that an eleven year old should definitely not be able to accomplish, especially without schooling, and you now have an illegal object hiding in your trunk probably, because you wanted to bring _memes_ to school."

"Uh," Peter made a face. "Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like overcompensating...."

Hermione crossed her arms and huffed. "That's because it very much _is_!"

There was a moment of silence before Hermione said, "I'll tell you what, though--if you show me how to do that, then I won't turn you in."

Peter grinned. "Fair."

Coco snapped down a last bacon strip and something clicked in Peter's mind. "Oh, hey," He turned to Harry. "What happened to Hedwig?"

"She spent like two weeks exploring the castle, and now she tries to follow me to class," Harry informed him, talking around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "But none of the teachers want her in the classroom, so I had to explain that to her. Now she's sulking and I haven't seen her since... when was it, Ron?"

"Last Saturday, I think."

Hermione frowned. "Who is Hedwig?"

"Snake," Harry told her simply.

Peter grinned. "Harry's a Parslemouth, isn't that cool?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "A... a Parslemouth? But... isn't that assoicated highly with Salazar Slytherin and Death Eaters and You-Know-Who?"

Peter shrugged. "I dunno, I'm American. And call him Voldemort, Hermione. "You-Know-Who just sounds really stupid."

Ron visibly flinched at the name, which was quite funny. "Stop saying that!" He hissed.

"What," Peter smirked at him, amused. "Scared he's gonna hear me?"

Ron glared at him, while Harry and Hermione looked a bit uncomfortable. "Look, mate, just don't say it. Britain is different from America."

Peter shook his head. "Okay, fine, I won't say it. Much," He added with a grin.

* * *

Friday night came and Peter had a plan. Harry's snake apparently knew all the secrets of Hogwarts--or that's what she told Harry--so Peter asked Harry to ask Hedwig to show him the castle laundry room, because there had to be one. Harry asked him why, and when Peter explained it to him, he grinned.

"Yeah, just hold on while I find her. She's probably hiding under my bed or something."

Maybe ten or twenty minutes later, the rusty snake slithered around the corner and over to Peter, who was sitting on the stairs and staring idly at a spot on the stone floor. He looked up and smiled at her. She stared back with lidded eyes.

"Hey. Which direction?" Hedwig dropped back on tothe floor and slithered toward the dungeons, not bothering to wait.

Hedwig lead him down the stairs, but instead of the dreary, damp corridor the Slytherins lived down, she went the opposite direction into a much more brightly lit one. The torches flickered merrily and gave a cozy atmosphere, much unlike the skulkish feeling Peter got from the Slytherin common rooms.

The snake slithered past a painting of a fruit bowl and finally stopped in front of a suit of armor that was missing a helmet and held it's sword up in front of it as if hailing a king. Rearing up, she grabbed the sword and pulled it down, immediately letting go.

Instead of clanking to the floor like Peter expected, the sword slowly rose back up to its original position. There was a low, dull grinding sound as the armor slid to one side and revealed a small tunnel that went up maybe a foot higher than Peter's knees.

Peter grinned. "Thanks for that."

Hedwig hissed softly, as if in understanding, before falling back to the stone and disappearing down the hall.

Peter got down on his hands and knees and started forward into the tunnel. After he was a few feet in, he heard the soldier slid back into the place and he froze, eyes wide. He turned to see a dark, unforgiving barrier in place of his exit. He took a few deep breaths and tried to think rationally to keep from panicking. Then he continued crawling.

There were several turns, and Peter felt the temperature slowly rising. Finally, after one last turn, Peter saw another exit. He hurried down the tunnel toward it. There was a board in the way. He pushed on it experimentally, and it swung open under his hand. A door, then.

He emerged from the dark crawlspace and stood, taking in the scene before him. There were dozens and dozens of house elves. Peter knew what house elves were, of course, but given their lack of money, May and him had never owned one before. This was the first time he'd seen even one, let alone... how ever many there even were.

They were rushing about busily, and all of them seemed to be doing some sort of laundry. It seemed there were four groups split up by house, only evident because of the green, yellow, blue and red spread into four slightly discernable sections. 

There were hundreds of washtubs around the large room, clothes scrubbing themselves under the direction of the house elves. 

There seemed to be a furnace or something in one area, where the clothes were blasted with a probably magical wave of heat. Peter noticed some clothes were hung on a clothesline to drip dry, presumably the ones that would otherwise shrink with the sudden temperature change.

Some of the elves were simply carting the laundry around, disappearing with one neatly folded pile and reappearing for the next. Others were magically folding the clean, dried clothes. All of them looked fairly happy and content.

(Peter spotted a shirt he recognized as his own. It was a t-shirt with the words "Lettuce: the taste of sadness".)

Peter stared around the room, slightly in awe. Then, a squeaky voice right next to him said, "Can Doiley help, Sir?"

Peter jumped and turned to see a house elf with leaf shaped ears, one with a nick in it, very large, watery blue eyes, and a long nose that quite resembled a carrot. He was wearing a towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest.

"Uh, yeah," Peter smiled down at the elf. "What's your name?"

The elf smiled cheerfully back at him. "I is Doiley, Sir."

"Okay. I'm Peter. It's nice to meet you, Doiley," Peter held out his hand.

Doiley's smile grew even larger as he shook Peter's hand vigorously, wide-eyed. "What can Doiley help with, Peter-Sir?"

"Can you get me some robes that don't have any House colors? I'm going neutral for the Quidditch match."

Doiley nodded eagerly and disappeared with a cheerful _pop_. He reappeared only a minute later with a pile of clothes much to large for him. "Doiley did not know what Peter would fit in-- so Doiley-- grabbed them all!"

Peter was quick to grab the burden from the staggering house elf, a little bewildered at the trusting eagerness. He'd thought he would run into problems like regulations or something, but Doiley seemed all too eager to be of service. Whatever, maybe it was just Doiley.

Peter grabbed several different sizes, not bothering to try them on. "Thanks again, Doiley!"

Doiley beamed. "Always, Mr. Peter-Sir! Please come back if you is wanting more help from Doiley, Sir! There is a fruit painting. Sir must make the pear giggle, and then Sir will be into the kitchen! Doiley is always happy to help Peter!"

Peter giggled at the elf's intoxicating cheerfulness, promising he would come back and visit as soon as he could. Then he left with the stack of plain black robes.

* * *

"Why are you wearing those?" Ned asked the next morning, frowning at Peter's color-lacking robes.

Peter grinned proudly. "I'm going neutral. This way, I can cheer for my brother but also for my own house, and as far as anyone else knows, I'm in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw."

"Huh," Ned looked at the slightly large pile of black cloth. "Where'd you even get them?"

"The house elves," Peter shrugged. "It's not very hard, they practically beg to help you, even though it's probably against like three different rules. Oh," A thougt occurred to him. "I'll be sitting with Ron and Hermione, so if you want to come with...." He indicated the extra robes with one hand.

Ned seemed to consider it for a moment before shrugging. "Sure, why not?"

"You're done with those?" A new voice had them turning around to see Michelle Jones standing there, watching them with that "I Really Don't Give One Crap About Any Of This" expression. Her question sounding almost more like a statement.

"Uh, hold on," Ned dug through the pile until he found his size. "Yes, we're done now."

"Great," Michelle picked up the entire pile and left.

Peter and Ned looked at each other, confused. "Uh," Peter said intelligently. "What...?"

Ned shrugged. "Imma go and change."

* * *

Peter and Ned got to the Quidditch pitch early, being they, Ron and Hermione walked with Harry, trying to help him with his nerves until they finally had to seperate and go to the stands instead. As they took their seats, Dean Thomas, another first year Gryffindor, noticed Peter and Ned, and apparently didn't recognise them.

"Who are you? And why aren't you wearing your house colors?"

Peter grinned. "You're _worst nightmare_." Ron snorted at that. It was quite rude.

"Why are your robes plain?" Dean prodded.

"'Cos I'm secretly an undercover Ilvermorny student. That's why I have this ridiculous accent."

"Was--" Dean made a face-- "Was that a Monty Python reference?"

Peter shrugged. "Maybe."

Dean narrowed his eyes suddenly. "You're American. What's football to you?"

Peter grinned, all teeth. "A sport in which you _throw_ a ball and _tackle_ each other. And you score _touch-downs_."

Dean looked like he was having an aneurysm. Hermione sighed deeply.

"That's _American_ football," Dean insisted. " _Football_ is where you kick the ball and don't use your hands unless your the goalie and you score goals."

"No. Wrong. That's soccer."

Dean looked furious, but before he could say anything else, Ron interjected, "Hey, Peter, what do you call fried potatoes?"

" _French fries_ ," Petee announced proudly.

"No!" Dean argued. "They're not even french! Why would--"

"Doritos are a type of...?" Ron prompted.

"Chips!"

"What do you get when you mix flour, sugar and eggs and roll it into balls?"

"Cookies!"

Dean buried his head in his arms in frustration. Peter and Ron laughed hysterically. Hermione rolled her eyes so hard they looked in danger of popping out.

They were, quite unfortunately, distracted from torturing Dean by the start of the Quidditch match. The two teams, wearing their prominent red versus green colors, marched out as Lee Jordan announced each player. Marcus Flint shook hands with Oliver Wood, and Hooch blew her whistle sharply, causing the two teams to shoot into the air. "And they're off!"

Peter cheered freely for both teams until Flint's foul, which, accompanied by Lee's commentary ("After that disgusting bit of cheating--" _"Jordan!"_ "I mean, after that open and revolting foul--" _"Jordan, I'm warning you--!"_ "Alright, alright. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor seeker--which could happen to anyone I'm sure. So, a penalty to Gryffindor.") caused Peter to switch to supporting Gryffindor in full.

Suddenly, people around the stands started gasping. Peter followed their shocked gazes to see Harry, who had been hovering over the field, holding for dear life onto a broom that was trying its best to buck him off. The movement was causing him to slowly rise in the air.

"Oh, Merlin--!" Peter breathed. "Oh nonononono this isn't good!"

Hagrid had joined them at some point, so Hermione suddenly grabbed the giant man's binoculars and started panning through the crowd.

"What's up, Hermione?" Ron questioned, but Hermione ignored him rudely.

She finally stopped. "There, I knew it! Snape's cursing the broom!"

"No 'e isn't!" Hagrid sputtered. "'E's a Hogwarts teacher! 'E'd never try teh kill a student!"

Peter snorted. "He's threatened to! I wouldn't be surprised! Hermione, how can you tell?"

"He's staring at Harry, not hlinking, and muttering something! That's what you need to do to curse someone! I've got to do something!" She dropped the binoculars on the bench and ran, quickly disappearing in the crowd.

Neville was cowering in the seat, his face in Hagrid's jacket. Ned had gone stiff, staring up at Harry as he hung on with just one hand. Ron was freaking out. Peter grabbed the binoculars and quickly spotted Snape. As Hermione had said, he was staring unblinkingly at Harry and his broom, muttering rapid-fire. 

Peter redirected the binoculars, instead spotting Hermione in the crowd, rushing along toward Snape's side of the stands. He looked at Harry, who looked absolutely terrified as he gripped the broomstick with just his right hand.

He was about to look back at Hermione when the binoculars were snatched from his grasp. "Hey!"

It was Michelle. She scanned through the crowd in Snape's general area. "Where did you even come from?" Peter demanded.

Michelle ignored him, but she apparently found what she was looking for, because she muttered, almost too quietly for Peter to hear, "Ah ha. There you are. Just what I thought, you mange bag." Which would have been quite funny, under different circumstances.

As suddenly as it had begun, Harry's mid-match crisis suddenly stopped, allowing him to clamber back on to his broom. Literally the entire world sighed in relief.

Accompanied by Lee's A-plus commentating, Harry caught (read: swallowed) the snitch and evrybody cheered. Except the Slytherins, but they didn't count in this matter because they all supported Flint's foul.

* * *

Peter hadn't thought he would let himself get dragged into Tea With Hagrid ever again. He had been wrong.

"Snape was trying to kill me!" Harry insisted.

"Rubbish!" Hagrid was in outright denial. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

"Well, I don't think he's very worried about morals," Peter mused. "I saw him on Halloween, you know. He went and tried to get past that ginormous three-headed dog, and it bit him," He shuddered. "It was disgusting. I'm traumatized for life."

Hagrid looked shocked. "How do you know about Fluffy?"

"Fluffy?" Ron repeated dubiously.

"Yeah, he's mine. Bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the--"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," Hagrid said gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape tried to _steal_ it," Peter insisted.

"Rubbish," Hagrid insisted. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione. "I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, you're wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh--yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel--"

"Aha!" said Harry. "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dunno exactly how it happened in canon, this feels off. Bit whatevr it's too late in the night for proof-reading ~~which I never do anyway~~
> 
> EDIT: I just fixed it, 14 hours after the initial posting. Ha.
> 
> Excessively long comments/reviews make the angels sing. ~~VALIDATE ME TALK TO ME IM BEGGIN Y~~


	7. In Which They Celebrate And Also Learn New Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is totally unrelated to this story and fandom, but last night I realized that Bilbo is two letters away from Dildo, and now I'm trying to decide if Tolkien did that on purpose.

    Dear Aunt May,

    Hogwarts is fine. The teachers are mostly great, except Snape who is evil. I guess I'm not missing out TOO badly, especially since Ilvermorny was supposedly modeled after Hogwarts anyway. My main problem with this school is that all these Brits are super prejudiced toward the different houses, which is really annoying since me and Harry are in opposite houses.

    Yeah, I brought my laptop with. And you're right, it was a stupid idea, because the thing doesn't even work. It just goes haywire and makes weird noises. Although it is useful for annoying my roommates. That's another thing about this school is that all the boys in my year and house have to share a dormitory, which is horrible because there's like seven of us.

    The first Quidditch match of the year was Gryffindor/vs/Slytherin, which was actually kind of funny, being those are mine and Harry's houses. Gryffindor won, and Marcus Flint pulled a foul, the prick--he purposely crashed into Harry and almost killed him, it was very rude.

    If you can't get Christmas off (PLEASE GET CHRISTMAS OFF) then can you send me and Harry some money for Christmas presents for our friends?

    Thank you,  
Peter

    (P.S. Harry says hi)

* * *

    Dear Peter and Harry,

    I'm glad Hogwarts is growing on you, because you'll probably be going there for your next six years, too. I'm sorry they're so competitive, but there's not much we can do about that.

    Congratulations on winning, Harry! And Peter, don't call names.

    I unfortunately can't get Christmas off. Sorry! But I did send you each some money, SPLIT IT EVENLY, and a few magazines, too, so you can look through thise for ideas.

    Love,  
May

* * *

Harry flipped through one of the magazines had sent them. "I don't even know what half these things are."

They were in the library. It was Saturday and Peter, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were looking for Nicolas Flamel. They had searched several dozen books already, and Peter and Harry had decided to start choosing Christmas presents. Christmas was still several weeks away, but they wanted to make sure they didn't forget anyone.

"Yeah, that's what the descriptions are for," replied Peter. "To explain what they are."

"They've got weird words," Harry explained. "What's an auror?"

"What are you even looking at?" Peter frowned, leaning over to look.

       
_Sneak-o-scopes!_   


       
_Do you think someone is hiding something from you? Are you worried there could be a plot to kill you? Why are there three hundred bubo-tubers in your basement? The sneak-o-scope, which is even used by aurors, can detect anyone untrustworthy. It wil light up and spin, alerting you to any would-be assassins. Keep yourselves safe and_   


Peter stopped reading. "Aurors are basically just wizard cops. I doubt they actually use sneak-o-scopes anyway, they're kind of pointless."

"Why?"

"Well," Peter shrugged. "They don't do much. They alert you when there's someone untrustworthy around, but nearly everyone could be labeled as untrustworthy for _some_ reason.

"I mean, you take me--I have an illegal laptop under my bed; you've copied off Hermione's homework loads of times; so has Ron. Untrustworthy might mean the person is married and having an affair. So they go off all the time and it almost never means someone's actually out to get you."

"Huh." Harry flipped the page to the candy section. "Uh. Acid pops? Do I want to know?"

Peter laughed. "Oh, I had one of those once. It burned a hole in my tongue. It was pretty painful."

Harry made a disgusted face. "And people eat them on purpose?"

"Eh." Peter shrugged. "Some people drink firewhiskey and completely ruin their liver and whatnot. People are strange."

Just then, Ron came back to their table and thumped a stack of books on the surface. "These are the books I found on famous wizards. Hermione's getting more."

"Is there anything with 'Nicolas Flamel' in the title?" Peter asked. "Like, I dunno, 'The Life and Times of Nicolas Flamel' or maybe 'Famous Wizards: Vol--Uh, You-Know-Who, Dumbledore, Nicolas Flamel, and mklre'?"

Ron shook his head. "Nope. His name wasn't in any of the summaries, either."

Peter sighed. "Irritating."

Ron sat down and started skimming the table of contents of 'Famous Witches and Wizards of Europe'. Peter and Harry skimmed their magazines, one of them occasionally circling an item with their quills. They sat and read and circled for maybe twenty minutes before Hermione arrived as well.

"This library is outrageously unorganized," she huffed, dropping into her seat and opening 'Wizards of Europe: From Alberic to Grindlewald to Voldemort'. "I can't find anything in here."

"Oh, that reminds me." Peter pulled the paper library map out of his robes. "I found this the other night. I meant to tell you guys, but I kept forgetting."

"What is it?" Harry asked curiously. Ron and Hermione leaned forward.

Peter spread it on the table. "Map of the library. There was a stack of them when I came up here last night, so I grabbed one. It's actually quite helpful. It's saved me a lot of time looking through the library."

Hermione frowned. "Why were you in the library at night?"

Peter rubbed his neck, suddenly self-conscious from the actual reason he'd been there. "I lost my toothbrush," he muttered, half-hoping they wouldn't hear.

"What?" Apparently, Ron didn't hear him.

"I said I lost my toothbrush," Peter said loudly. "I couldn't find my toothbrush, so I came up to the library."

Harry didn't seem to understand. Perks of not having a Peter-wired brain. "Why would you go to the library to find your toothbrush? Did you, I dunno, try and find a catalogue of every single toothbrush in the world?"

"No," Peter replied huffily. "I looked up the summoning charm to try and summon my toothbrush."

Silence.

"That," announced Ron. "Has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Agreed," said Harry. Peter gaped at him, feeling betrayed.

"I'm just wondering if you ever actually learned the spell," Hermione said.

Peter considered how to answer as dramatically as possible. He flicked his wand and said, "Accio, Scabbers."

The rat flew out of Ron's bag with an indignant squeak, landing in Peter's cupped hands. He held Scabbers up like a trophy, quite pleased with himself.

The three Gryffindors stared at him a moment before Hermione said, "Well, I think that answers the question."

Peter put the squirming rat on the table. Harry asked, "Can you summon us a book on Nicolas Flamel?"

Peter's eyebrows rose. "Uh. Maybe?"

"No," Hermione huffed exasperatedly. "That spell requires mind force; you need to be able to comcentrate on the subject, so if you don't at _least_ have a title, it'll become considerably more difficult."

"Accio, uh, Nicolas Flamel book."

Peter stood with his wand raised for a moment that eventually became a minute. He put his wand down. "Well, it was worth a try."

Then something connected in his mind. "Hey, we could ask May if she's heard of him. And Ron's parents. We could say it's for a school project."

He sat down and, as Harry skimmed his magazine and Ron and Hermione searched the library books, Peter wrote the letter.

* * *

    Dear May,

    Hi again. We're supposed to do an essay on Nicolas Flamel in History of Magic, except we've run into a problem in the form of we can't find any books on him in the school library. So, I thought maybe you knew something about him and that would make it easier to find him. Please write back quickly.

    Love,  
Peter

* * *

* * *

The day the Hogwarts Express arrived to take almost the entire school back to London, Hermione made them promise they would keep looking for Nicolas Flamel, also assuring them that she would ask her own parents, just in case. Hagrid had told them to drop it, that it wasn't any of their business what was beneath the trapdoor, but they didn't exactly take his advice.

They had looked through what felt like hundreds of books, but even without the map's help, with it's diagrams and labels, they hadn't found any mention of Nicolas Flamel.

At the start of the holidays, Peter had noticed that, since Ned had gone home to his parents, he was almost the only Slytherin still at Hogwarts, with the exception of one sixth year girl who kept to herself. The common room was empty and unfriendly, and the windows looking into the lake were dark.

All in all, it wasn't a very appealing way to spend the holidays. So, Peter had asked Professor McGonagall (Snape wasn't exactly too friendly friendly, and McGonagall was the deputy headmistress anyway) if he could stay in the Gryffindor tower instead.

McGonagall had seemed reluctant at first, but allowed it when he reminded her that Harry was his (adopted) brother. She made him swear that he would treat the tower with respect, and that he would move back into his own common room once the holidays were over.

It was an interesting experience to live in the Gryffindor tower. Everything was crimson and gold, and the blankets, he noticed, were made from an exceptionally different material. It wasn't uncomfortable, per se, but he didn't feel as accustomed as he had grown to the green and silver and fancy silk of Slytherin.

But despite the slight unfamiliarity of the Gryffindor tower, Peter found he enjoyed the holidays immensely.

With most of the castle away for Christmas, there was almost no one else in the common room. This meant that the three of them could sit wherever they pleased, and they could talk as loudly as they liked without disturbing anyone.

Peter and Ron started teaching Harry wizard chess. He wasn't very good at it, especially since he was using chessmen lent to him by Seamus Finnigan, and they didn't trust him at all, criticising his every move.

* * *

On Christmas morning, Peter woke to find that his Christmas presents had been delivered to the foot of his bed overnight. He grinned sleepily, stumbling out of bed and pulling on his bathrobe.

"Merry Christmas," came Ron's tired but cheerful voice.

"You too," said Harry. "Look at this--this is a lot more presents than I was expecting."

"Well, it _is_ Christmas," Peter replied, before picking up his first present. This was the one from Hermione, a large box of licorice wands.

A soft note was blown, a bit like an owl, and Peter looked to see Harry holding a roughly cut wooden flute.

"Who's that from?" Peter asked curiously.

"Hagrid," said Harry. "I didn't expect that." He turned the instrument in his hands, examining it.

Peter opened another present, from his Aunt May: a book called _A Guide to Making Howlers, Penseives, Holoscrolls, and Other Magical Conveniences_ , and a small package of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum.

He also got a present from Hagrid, a set of reed pipes which sounded similar to Harry's flute, but also a bit different, as if from another owl.

His present from Harry was a set of collectable wizard figurines. They were like literal action figures, each with a certain spell they could perform, albeit on a much, much smaller scale. In this set were Morgana, Voldemort, Grindlewald, Merlin, and Dumbledore.

From Ned, he got a Star Wars LEGO set, which made him laugh.

He even got one from Doiley--a carefully knit winter hat--and Ron's mother, to which Ron groaned--a Slytherin Silver sweater and some homemade fudge.

He turned to Harry, who had already opened his box of wizard pranks from Peter, his broom-polishing kit from May, and his presents from Hermione and Mrs. Weasley.

He had just opened his last present, spilling a fluid silvery cloth onto the ground. Both Peter and Ron gasped.

"I've heard of those," Ron said in a hushed voice. "If that's what I think it is--they're really rare, and _really_ valuable."

"What is it?" Harry picked the cloth up off the floor.

Peter was practically hyperventilating. "Oh my wand, oh my wand, sweet Circe, Merlin's beard, Ron pinch me I'm hallucinating."

Ron shook his head numbly. "You're not, I see it too."

"But what _is_ it?" Harry demanded again.

"An Invisibility Cloak," Peter said in a rush. "Try it on. Oh Merlin, this is the greatest day of my life."

Harry laughed exasperatedly, pulling the Cloak around his shoulders. "It isn't even yours, though."

Peter shook his head, his grin widening as he bounced on the balls of his feet and Harry's body disappeared under the Cloak. "Not important. This is so freaking _awesome_ , Ron, look, he's _disappeared_ , Merlin's bloody beard--"

Harry dashed to the mirror to stare at his lack of a reflection. He pulled the Cloak up over his head, and Peter giggled slightly hysterically as Harry disappeared from view completely.

"There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"

Harry pulled the Cloak off to pick up the note. Ron and Peter ran their hands over the fluid cloth dropped so carelessly on the floor.

"I'd give _anything_ for one of these," Ron sighed. " _Anything_."

Peter shook his head in exasperation, disbelief, and envy all at once. "You just have it made, don't you?" he pouted. "First, you get caught breaking rules and are rewarded with a place on the Quidditch team; then, you get a Nimbus 2000, also for breaking rules; Now you get an Invisibilty Cloak for no reason at all!"

Then, before anyone could say or do anything else, Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Peter recognized them from the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match, and because they weren't exactly the most keep-to-themselves kind of people.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look--Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!"

The twins were each wearing a blue sweater, one with a yellow F and the other a G.

"Who's this?" Fred noticed Peter.

"Peter Parker," aforementioned Peter replied. "We met at King's Cross--you helped me and Harry with our trunks."

George nodded. "Oh yeah, I remember. Even you've got a Weasley sweater."

"Yours are better than ours, though." Fred held up Harry's sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it on. They're lovely and warm."

"I hate maroon," Ron grumbled, but he pulled the sweater on anyway.

"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid--we know we're called Gred and Forge." Peter snorted at that.

"What's all this noise?" Another of Ron's brothers, Percy Weasley, poked his head in the door disapprovingly. He was carrying a lumpy sweater over one arm, and Fred took the opportunity to seize it.

"P for prefect!" Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry and Peter got them."

"I--don't--want--" But it was a losing battle, the twins forcing the sweater over his head and knocking his glasses askew, which was quite rude.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today either," added George. "Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-marched Percy out of the dormitory, his arms pinned inside his sweater.

* * *

The Christmas feast was marvelous. Not only was there platters and platters of delicious food, but there were stacks of wizard crackers. They were clearly a British thing, because Peter had never seen them before, but they were absolutely fantastic. Upon pulling one with Ron, the cracker exploded, nearly deafening Peter, and several live white mice appeared and ran off, along with an incredibly stereotypical cowboy hat, which Peter put on immediately.

Christmas pudding followed as a dessert, and Peter, never having seen, let alone tasted, one in his life, found it to be quite delicious.

After the feast, there was a small war waged on the grounds with snowballs. Peter and Harry yelled "Yeet" a lot, much to the confusion of the red-headed family of purebloods. They returned to the castle cold, wet, tired, and laughing.

In the Gryffindor common room, Harry and Ron waged another war, this time in terms of chess. Peter could barely stop himself laughing as he watched over his Magical Conveniences book.

The book was actually quite interesting, even though a lot of the magic was far too advanced for Peter to do at age eleven. It talked about the process of making howlers, and what actually goes into the formation of a pensieve.

When the three of them finally went up to bed, Peter fell asleep just about the moment he closed his eyes. Then he dreamed about unicorns and hippogriffs and cotton candy cloud castles.

* * *

The next morning, Peter swore to never eat an entire box of chocolate frogs before bed ever again.

They were eating bacon and oatmeal the next morning when Harry brought up his night-time wanderings.

"I used the Cloak last night," he said as a conversation-starter.

Ron's attention was caught immediately. "You did? What'd you do with it?"

"Went to the Restricted Section and tried to find Flamel."

"And did you?" Peter shoveled more bacon into his mouth.

Harry shook his head, looking preoccupied. "No. But I found a mirror. It..."

"Yes?" Ron prompted.

"It--the mirror--it showed me my parents."

There was a bit of silence where nobody talked.

"You could have woken us up," Ron grumbled.

"You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror."

"I'd like to see your mum and dad," Ron said. Peter nodded in agreement.

"And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show us your brothers and everyone."

"You can see them any old time," Ron said. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

"Not hungry."

"Come off it," Peter scoffed. "You were running around all night, you've got to be starving."

"I'm not."

Peter shook his head and went back to his bacon.

* * *

The three of them wandered through the corridors under the Invisibility Cloak, Peters hands and feet slowly freezing into oblivion. Ron apparently shared his sentiments, insisting that they should just turn back, but Harry pushed on.

They finally found the room, Harry immediately dropping the Cloak and running to a huge gold mirror, which looked quite out of place in a dusty Hogwarts classroom. Carved above the glass were the words: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

"See?" Harry whispered.

"I don't see anything," Ron grumbled.

"Me neither," agreed Peter.

"Look!" Harry insisted. "Look at them all! There are loads of them...."

"I can only see you," Ron said unenthusiastically.

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

Ron stepped in Harry's place and his eyes widened, staring at the mirror as if it held the secrets of the universe. Peter didn't understand what all the fuss was about. It was only a mirror.

"Look at me!" Ron whispered.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?" Harry asked.

"No--I look different, I look older... and I'm Head Boy...."

" _What?_ "

"I am, I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to! And I'm holding the house cup, and the Quidditch cup--I'm Quidditch captain, too!"

Ron turned to Harry while Peter stood confused in the background. "Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it?" Harry replied. "All my family are dead--"

Then they started arguing about whose turn it was, as if it was a ride at the fair. Peter, however, wanted to know why it was so special, so he pushed the two of them out of the way--they were wrestling like three-year-olds--and stepped in front of Ron.

Instead of seeing just himself in the mirror, or a family photo, Peter gasped and clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes going a bit blurry.

Because, staring back at him, smiling, were the faces of Richard and Mary Parker.

Harry and Ron stopped their bickering to look at him.

"What do you see?" asked Harry.

"Is it cool?" asked Ron.

Peter simply shook his head, quite sure he had swallowed a solid block of air.

Harry got quiet, and Peter continued to drink in the sight of his long-dead parents like a formerly blind man drinking in his first sight. He'd been quite young when they had died, but there were pictures, videos, and stories. He had one or two vague, blurry memories, even. Then they had died. And now Peter could see them standing next to him, not at three years old, but at eleven.

"Is it your parents?" Harry finally asked.

Peter swallowed with difficulty and nodded.

A dull thud outside the door drew their attention from the mirror, and they ran to grab the Cloak. Harry and Ron had to drag Peter a little, because he didn't want to leave the bittersweet image of his parents brought into the present.

Then they were invisibke and Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, peered around the corner, staring right at them.

After a tense few minutes, the cat left. Peter Harry, and Ron followed soon after.

* * *

Peter didn't want to do anything next morning. He just wanted to see Mom and Dad again. Ron had other ideas.

"Listen, I know you two are thinking about that mirror," he informed them. "I don't think we should go back again."

"Why not?" Harry asked dully.

"I dunno, I've got a bad feeling about it. Besides, you could get caught. What if you bump in to someone or knock something over?"

"You sound like Hermione."

"I'm serious, don't go."

Peter thought about the big golden mirror. He thought about his parents, alive and well after over half a decade. He remembered having to be dragged away from the mirror by Harry and Ron. He sighed.

"No, Harry, I think he's right. Staring at dead people won't make them come back."

But Harry didn't answer.

* * *

Harry told them he'd met Dumbledore in the room. Apparently, the mirror was called the Mirror of Erised, and showed the viewer the thing they want most in the world, whether it's achievable or not.

This is an effective way of keeping someone in front of the mirror until they starve. That's what many people do, apparently.

On that happy note, Coco the owl flew onto Peter's plate, dropping a letter onto his toast and nibbling at his bacon. In the letter was some slightly happier news:

    Dear Peter,

    I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to you sooner. I've been busy. I hope you've been having a nice holiday.

    Nicolas Flamel, as far as I can remember, was an alchemist who worked Dumbledore, the headmaster. As for what he actually did, I'm not quite sure. I don't even really remember where I've heard of him before.

    I'm so sorry I couldn't get work off. :(

    Merry (Late) Christmas  
May

* * *

After the holidays, Peter kept his word to McGonagall and moved back to the Slytherin dormitory. Surprisingly, he didn't feel too depressed by it. In fact, moving back in felt a little like coming home from a vacation; he'd had fun in the Gryffindor tower with Harry and Ron, but the Slytherin dormitory felt more right and familiar. Probably because he'd spent more time there than in Gryffindor.

They had told Hermione about the letter from May, and she had immediately lit up like a candle and went to look through a thick and old-looking library book.

Apparently, Nicolas Flamel was the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone. Harry and Ron didn't give much of a reaction to that, which was understandable for Harry, but Ron was a pureblood. He should know these things.

Peter, on the other hand, was sent into a very quickly running train of thought. The Sorcerer's Stone, the only known source of the Elixir of Life, and also capable of turning any metal into pure gold.

Harry and Ron were far more interested once they were informed of these minor details. Now that they knew exactly what Fluffy was guarding, they weren't in the least bit surprised that Snape wanted it.

Peter's spirits fell again when, during one Friday morning potions class, Harry, Ron and Hermione informed him that Snape would be refereeing the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match.

"That can't end well," Peter muttered.

"After what happened last time, I think I agree," said Hermione.

"I still need to play," Harry insisted. "Otherwise, the rest of the Slytherins will think I'm scared of Snape."

"Well, I think you should be," Peter grumbled, flicking his wand at the soupy, crimson substance in his cauldron. "He tried to kill you last time."

"Wrong."

The four of them turned to look at Michelle Jones, who was working with Ned behind them, and had evidently been listening in on their conversation. It was very rude, and Peter would have told her so, but he had other things on his mind.

"What do you mean, 'wrong'?" he asked.

Michelle gave the four of them an impressive poker face. "You have the wrong person."

Hermione huffed. She did not like being told that she was wrong. "We haven't. I saw Snape staring at Harry. His wand was out, and he was muttering, and he wasn't blinking at all. I know what curses look like--I've read about them."

"Really?" Michelle wasn't very impressed. "Because I saw Quirrel doing the exact same thing."

The four of them stared at her with varying degrees of surprise. Ned stirred the potion in the background.

Hermione still didn't want to be told that she was wrong. "Are you sure? Maybe you saw wrong... Quirrel might have been performing the countercurse--perhaps that's why Harry was able to stay on so long...."

"Or, Snape might have been performing the countercurse." Michelle rolled her eyes. "Think about it for a minute--Snape's been teaching here for years. He has no real reason to kill Potter. Quirrel, on the other hand, left on some vacation and came back totally different, at least according to all the other teachers. Quirrel seems more suspicious to me."

Then Snape swept past, tutting at Harry and Ron's thick brown sludge, and they had to pull their friendly conversation to a halt. Michelle's unexpected interruption had sent Peter's train of thought careening down a different track. This new information was very confusing.

A very interesting development indeed....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We only have a few more chapters left my guys. This will be the very first fic I've ever actually completed lmfdao.
> 
> Next year, we'll probably have a bit more canon divergence. We can always hope, right?
> 
> Most importantly, wash your hands, wash your face, stay safe, etcetera etcetera. Y'all's probably sick of hearing that--I am too--but it really is important. Even if you don't die, being sick sucks. My large family is puking, and I spent last night throwing up into the toilet. We're getting better now, but it was horrid while it lasted.
> 
> On the bright side, our schools are clksed, apparently for the rest of the year, so there's that
> 
> So yeah, there's my spiel, go back to your isolation or whatever.


End file.
